A Fallen God Rises
by ShoredKafka
Summary: Heavily disillusioned towards the latter part of his life, he accepted death peacefully, without protest. But the spirit of a God cannot find rest, even in death. He knew not who pulled him from the Shinigami's grasp, nor his purpose in the land he was in. So be it. He would forge his own path as he always had. Senju Hashirama has come to Alagaesia.
1. Prologue

**So, this idea has just been bouncing around in my head for a while. I would think about Galbatorix and the extremely pathetic way in which Eragon defeated him. "I used my power and the power of countless Eldunari to make him feel bad for what he did." Seriously? (well, that was the gist of it) Anyways, my thoughts on the Cycle aside, I just figured it would be really fun idea to insert Senju Hashirama into Alagaesia. I'm especially interested in how the elves would view him. While they can, of course, use the Ancient Language to sing trees, flowers and so forth to their will, what Hashirama can do and the ease with which he does it is many magnitudes above what they're capable of.**

 **Important:** **Hashirama's story will differ from canon. More specifically, the later stages of his life. I'll also be changing the circumstances of his death (which were never very clear in the first place). Most importantly, he does NOT get summoned as an Edo Tensei. Not by Orochimaru, not by Kabuto, not by anyone. I hope you read this, because if at a later point of time someone writes me a long winding review about Hashirama's story being different from canon...well, that person would feel pretty silly wouldn't they? And I would be laughing :P**

 **Whether or not I continue this story depends completely and utterly on the response I get. So inundate me with reviews and the like, and I promise to continue updating, though Reaping Destiny remains my primary story.**

 **Well, without further ado, here's the prologue.**

* * *

Leola pushed her hair away from her face, strands of dark brown clinging to her forehead as she toiled away beneath the morning sun. Already her face was covered in a glimmer of sweat, with the odd fleck of dark earth breaking the sheen. Sighing, she stood and stretched, her muscles screaming in protest at the sudden movement. Tending to the fields was hard work, especially now, when the crops were mere seedlings and at their most delicate. But it was, of course, one of the most critical periods in the year. Without being tended to carefully, the harvest would be a poor one, and her family would suffer in the winter.

"You still tire too easily, Leola," called her mother, smiling slightly as she worked some distance away. Leola shook her head good naturedly at her mother's rebuke, knowing she was right. Despite having worked on a farm too easily, she didn't possess the fortitude that her mother and father had when it came to tending to their land.

"Please. it's you and father who possess unnatural strength when it comes to farmwork. Even the farmhands who come and go with the sowing season can't keep up with you," she called back, relishing in the feeling of her blood rushing through her sore limbs. Her parents had never, beyond the occasional bout of teasing, called out her seeming ineptitude in the realm of farmwork. But that was because her skill lay in another area entirely.

Ever since she was young, she had been a natural with herbs. She would spend hours studying them, though she had been strictly supervised after it was discovered that her preferred means of studying unknown herbs was to eat them.

In her defense, the first one had tasted pleasantly minty.

But that was when she had been young. Now, she had achieved something of a reputation in the area they lived in. She could care for livestock and tend to common illnesses. And her dream was to study under a herbalist in one of the major cities in Alagaesia.

 _Father has been working so hard to see that dream fulfilled_ she thought to herself, feeling the familiar twang of guilt gnaw at her heart. Despite the fact that she was the sole child in the family, neither of her parents had objected to her dreams. Indeed, they actively worked to raise the money that she would need to find a worthy apprenticeship, at no small cost to their own comfort.

With renewed determination, she was about to plunge back into her work when her mother called to her again, distracting her from her thoughts.

"Leola, go see what's keeping your father so long will you?" called her mother, a faint hint of exasperation on her face, "You know how prone he is to lapse into those fits of thought."

Leola giggled as she complied and stepped carefully through the fields, careful not to damage the seedlings. What her mother so aptly called "fits of thought" was a common occurrence in their household. They would find Sigerich staring off into the distance, a deeply contemplative look on his face. He would lose all sense of the then and there, content to fix his eyes on the horizon as his mind dwelt on something far away.

She had learned not to ask for a while, but knew that it was something to do with his past. Her family had not always been farmers after all. Indeed, as far as the neighbouring farms were concerned - and farms in these parts were far apart - they were newcomers, with the others having deep roots in their land. Between them, they were able to cater to the needs of various traders and settlements without infighting. That Leola had at one time or another tended to the health of most of these farmers had done much to ingratiate herself and her family to the others.

Now she was close to their house, and already she could see her father some distance away, staring at something intensely.

 _I wonder how he ever got on before he met mother_ Leola thought fondly, changing direction to head towards him. But as she drew closer, she realized something was wrong. Her father was not looking off into the distance, eyes unfocused. Instead, he seemed to be looking at something on the ground. Not just looking, but staring. His usually impassive face was now set in an expression of...disbelief? And apprehension?

"Father? Is everything alright?" she called out in a concerned tone. Her father did not often lose his stoicism, a trait that had become something of a joke over time.

"Father?" she called again, and still there was no answer. Her father looked positively wary, as if he were staring down a wild animal of some sort. Had a wolf made it past their fences? No, if so, her father would have driven it away or put it down. Now he merely looked indecisive, as if confronted by an enigma.

Her pace picked up slightly in her anxiety, covering the distance between her and her father with surprising speed.

As she drew closer, she suddenly skidded to a stop with a cry of embarrassment. Leola felt heat rush up to her cheeks in a matter of seconds, staining them a dull red as she looked anywhere but where her father was looking. The noise of surprise finally caught Sigerich's attention, and he turned around to see his wildly blushing daughter look away uncomfortably.

"There's a naked man lying in the fields," she muttered uncomfortably. Even from the brief glimpse, she could tell that the man was not normal. With tanned skin and unusually angular features, he looked like no one she had ever seen, including the merchants who travelled from as far away as Surda.

"Yes," he agreed solemnly, "More troublingly, a naked man who doesn't look like anyone I've ever seen in my life."

"How is that more important?!" she demanded, still looking away from the unconscious man lying in their field without a stitch on him.

"Were this the neighbor or his layabout son, that would make more sense would it not?" her father replied, and she could almost sense the customary shrug he usually gave when explaining such things.

"What do we do about him?" she pressed on determinedly, refusing to engage in light mannered talk with the situation they were facing, "If anything, shouldn't we get him off the seedlings? He's probably ruined a few of them by now."

Sigerich hesitated, as if internally arguing about the merits of leaving the man on a nearby trail or being a little more humane about it. They lived in dangerous times, and a kind gesture could cost them dearly, especially if this man turned out to be one of the rebels. The king's soldiers showed no mercy in such matters, and took no risks. The wrath of Galbatorix was a terrible thing, for it could extend to the offender's family, comrades, or even birthplace, if rumours were to be believed.

Then his face hardened, as if he had reached a decision.

"Leola, go the house and take out the linen and bring it to me. Then you should tell mother about...this," he gestured, as if unable to find the appropriate word to describe what they were experiencing. Leola gave him a disbelieving glance.

"You want to bring a stranger to our house?!"

"Of course not," Sigerich snapped, "The barn will keep him safe enough, for now. I refuse to completely ignore one who so clearly needs our help!"

"And should it come to be that he's not a good man?" Leola asked dubiously. Sigerich's eyes hardened.

"I still have my sword. Now, go."

Leola nodded sharply and ran towards the house. It went against her conscience, having to act so suspiciously in light of someone who was in need of aid. But with each passing day their life grew more dangerous. With hostilities against the Varden showing no signs of abating, the soldiers grew bitter and angry, and more than a few merchants had talked of being harassed as they passed by.

The linen in question looked tattered and worn, having weathered the assault of many a passing season. But it still held together well, and had been kept clean by the her mother.

 _Seeing as this man has nary a stitch on him, even this is certain to be an improvement_ she found herself thinking as she made the run back to Sigerich. Her father took the linen from her and turned away, leaving her with the task of telling her mother what had transpired.

Sigerich sighed, wondering if he hadn't hastened to take the moral choice in the matter. He had seen far too much of the world to hold on to such naive ideals, and yet, here he was. But what was done was done, and he had to stow away this man in the barn before explaining to his wife why the barn was no longer the abode of their animals alone.

Sigerich sighed again. It would be a long day.

* * *

Death had come for him, not in the middle of a battlefield as many had been led to believe, but during his time as a recluse. He remembered the sensation when life had exited his body peacefully, soft as a whisper that faded into the night. He remembered how he never resisted, never struggled to keep his body and soul together like Madara had in his final moments. He had merely accepted it, as one would the soothing feeling that sleep brought with it. Not that he had much choice in the matter, the Shinigami was never denied its due.

In death he knew he had fallen out of time and space, for he could not remember possessing a form in death, nor could he bring himself to estimate how long he had been dead. Without his senses to aid him, he could not even remember _what_ he had experienced. Had he experienced anything at all? He could only remember that he had _existed_. That his mind had not disintegrated when it had been separated from his body.

 _Take that, Nara!_ he would have exclaimed exuberantly once, for the head of the Nara clan who had agreed to the creation of Konoha had not believed in an afterlife. Or rather, he thought it was too troublesome to come up with ideas of what would happen after Earth.

But this wasn't then. And his friend was no longer here.

Physical awareness had greeted him with a painful flood of information from his sensory organs. Wait, he had a body?

And then he had sat up abruptly, only to nearly faint once more as the flood of information nearly tripled in its intensity. But even through the pain, his heart raced as he reveled in the feeling of being clearly defined once more. It was as if his very soul was rejoicing at being reunited with its container. And that had sent into another fit of emotion. He could experience _joy_ once again. He missed it, the feeling that he had treasured in his time alive, the feeling he had sought to instill in a world torn apart by greed, war and strife.

He wished he hadn't thought of that, for then he remembered the grief, the hopelessness, and the inevitable cynicism that he had experienced when all his efforts had been for naught. He had sacrificed his friendships, his lives, his thoughts of revenge so his children and grandchildren could revel in a peaceful world. But the Elemental Nations had rejected peace at every turn, almost as if the thought of peace was an abhorrent one.

Unable to handle the overload of emotions he was experiencing, he fell to the ground again, only barely aware of his surroundings. He was assaulted by the powerful smell of hay, dung and grain as he lay there, abandoning his internal thoughts in favor of trying to understand where he was.

It was a farm of some sort, of that he became reasonably certain. His movements had alerted animals nearby, and a cacophony of noises reached him.

 _This has to be a barn_ he decided, having spent his younger years taking shelter wherever he could find it. It was not unusual for ninjas to seek shelter in remote farms, for it made a pleasant change from sleeping out in the open forest. But that was before he had truly delved into his nature chakra. From then on, sleeping in forest and other aspects of nature was a luxury for him, for he had felt every pulse, every whisper of wind that caressed the trees and plants around him. It was what had made him the most feared sensory ninja of his time, among other things.

His thought had turned to chakra then, and he realized with dismay that his body was nearly drained of chakra - a feeling that he had only experienced a few times in his life. He shook his head as he gradually got accustomed to the sheer volume of information that was reaching him. But his thoughts were still muddled. There were so many questions he had to find answers for.

Was he alive once more?

Where was he?

Why did he possess a body once again? _His_ body for that matter.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a vague movement he caught in the corner of his eye. Immediately he pushed himself up into a sitting position once more, doing his best to get into a defensive position. The results were pathetic. He could only manage a crouch with a hand held weakly before him.

"Calm yourself," came a gruff voice, and a middle aged man came into view, looking wary as his hand went to the sword strapped to his hip. The man looked odd - not as odd as Kakuzu - but different, as if his very fundamental features were different from anything he had seen in the Elemental Nations.

"I'm not sure I could do something even if I tried," he responded, his voice slurred and distorted as he struggled to reacquaint himself with his vocal cords.

"Aye, that's true enough," replied the man in a slightly less tense tone, though his hand never left the hilt of his sword. Despite the sluggish state he was in, Hashirama felt a hint of approval at the man's attitude. He projected wariness, but not hostility. A good mixture when it came to dealing with a complete unknown.

"I have no intention to cause you harm," he said wearily, realizing he had to be the one to make the gesture of peace, "My intentions at this time are to try and keep myself conscious, really."

At this the man's lips twitched and he relaxed a little more, finally letting go of his weapon. He drew a little closer then, looking at Hashirama as if he were an alien. Hashirama too was looking at him the same way. But why did this man act as if he had never seen the likes of him before? Surely a large portion of people in the Elemental Nations looked somewhat like him.

The man pulled out a roughly wrapped package and threw it to Hashirama. Hashirama merely let it fall near him, knowing he stood no chance at actually catching it. A smell invaded his nostrils - the smell of food which immediately made his stomach grumble. Upon opening it, he found bread, cheese and pickled onion in the package. A humble fare, but he devoured it with gusto, savoring the taste of food after so long. By then the man had leaned against a nearby wall, looking at him with mild amusement.

"Name's Sigerich. And you are?"

"Hashirama. Senju Hashirama," he replied immediately through a mouthful of bread, anticipation tightening around his chest like an iron band, squeezing painfully at his heart. This was the moment of truth. The Elemental Nations would not have forgotten the Senju clan quickly, if at all. If this man did not recognize his name, or at least part of it, then he would have his answer.

"A strange name, by any means," Sigerich replied casually, only confusion lacing his tone, "I have heard none like it in my time wandering Alagaesia."

He closed his eyes as the pain in his heart became almost unbearable. Alagaesia. The name of the land they were in. His fingers tightened around the bread they were holding, shredding it into a thousand different pieces as he struggled to accept the reality that greeted him. He was in the world of the living once more. With a body he had possessed in his prime, though a fatigued one.

"Alagaesia," he spoke softly, the foreign name rolling roughly off his tongue.

"Aye," the man replied, and he now looked confused, "But surely you knew that, stranger."

He shook his head slowly, "My faculties are not my own at the present. Even my own voice seems strange to me."

Ah, the art of deception. Conscious for only a few moments and already it rolled off his tongue smoothly. And the most powerful words of deception were those that did not lie. Nothing of what he had said was false. And yet, the picture they painted would be anything but true.

The man - Sigerich - gave a bark of laughter in response.

"Words spoken so often by those who consume spirits in excess. And yet I sense that is not what you mean."

Already the food was over, and his limbs had stopped trembling as his body embraced the sensation of a full stomach. He looked up at Sigerich with somber eyes. Many of his former friends would have believed him incapable of such an expression. Serious, yes, but never somber. But things had changed in his last years. Oh, how they had changed.

"I don't know, Sigerich-san," he spoke, and immediately felt foolish. Who knew if these people even used suffixes like he would, "I truly cannot remember. So much seems alien to me at the moment."

"San?" Sigerich asked, confused, before shaking his head slightly

Well. That was one of his questions answered at least. Sigerich pulled out what appeared to be a waterskin before throwing it to him.

"Wine. Not much to speak of, but it'll put some warmth in you. Rest, str- Hashirama. Tomorrow I'll see if I can find some old clothes for you. Perhaps sleep will clear your mind," he spoke before beginning to walk away. But then he halted.

"I don't believe you mean us harm, stranger. I hope you will not prove me wrong."

And then he was gone, leaving Hashirama to tentatively pour of some of the wine in his mouth. His eyes widened and he almost spat the liquid out as the strong liquid burned down his throat. Yes, he felt strength enter his limbs as the warmth spread through his body, making his fingers tingle at the sensation. But it takes awful.

"Booze sucks no matter what land I'm in," he muttered to himself as he set the wine aside and fell against the straw on the ground once more. He only noticed it now - that straw had been strewn about to form a rough, though fairly comfortable substitute for a futon. This Sigerich was a good man at heart. Kindness was something he had grown not to expect from people in his later years. Well, not all people.

Soon darkness greeted him once more, and this time he welcomed it, knowing his body would recuperate all the faster. But the thought of the dreams he would have gave him pause for a while. It had been many years since he had dreamt a pleasant dream.

* * *

"Would you like to say that again?" Leola enquired with a poisonously sweet tone, reminding Hashirama greatly of his granddaughter Tsunade. Even as a child, the little blonde had been temperamental to the extreme. Perhaps it ran in the Uzumaki blood? People had feared him for his strength. But even the Kages had tip toed around his wife, and not just because she had hosted the Kyuubi within herself.

 _Did Tsunade look like this girl when she was older?_ he wondered fondly, even as he took an unconscious step back from the angry young woman in front of him. The first time Sigerich had introduced his daughter to him, the young girl had looked away, blushing furiously for some unknown reason. He would have felt the embarrassment radiating off her even if his sensory abilities had begun to return by that point.

"I'm saying, you're using a lot more herbs than you actually need to," he replied patiently, holding one of her many remedies in his hand. The plant sang to him through his chakra, baring itself joyfully in the presence of a power that seemed so in tune with it.

"Look," he gestured, trying to distract Leola from her temper. He squeezed one of the leaves, and collected the essence in his palm, "This is where the medical benefits of this plant are concentrated. Collect the essence from five leaves and that's all you'll need."

Leola narrowed her eyes and studied the essence he had collected in his hands, before looking up at him suspiciously, "You know a lot about these leaves, Hashi. Are you some kind of herbalist?"

Ah, that was another thing. Leola had recovered from her embarrassment very quickly, and had taken to calling him Hashi within hours. Sigerich had merely told him to take it into stride, apparently she had given people far more embarrassing nicknames. He did not mind, though the nickname did bring back a rush of memories from the past. The family had noticed very quickly that his eyes grew distant for hours together.

"Father does the same thing," was all Leola had said, shrugging.

In his defense, it wasn't always nostalgia. His chakra had soon begun to return at its trademark speed, and within a few days he was himself again. It had always been potent, so it did not surprise him. Food was key, of course, and he had found himself apologizing profusely to Sigerich and Francesca for the quantity of food he had consumed in the first few days.

"Hashi! Stop fading away when I'm talking to you!" Leola exclaimed impatiently, and he found himself drawn back to the present.

"I'm sorry," he smiled slightly, "What were you asking me again?"

"I was asking you if you're a herbalist," Leola repeated impatiently, "Seeing as you seem to know so much of these remedies."

 _Every question they ask me is a difficult one to answer_ he groaned internally. He supposed he did possess the skill to be a herbalist, but that wasn't who he was.

"It is...a part of what I am, I suppose," he nodded slowly, already anticipating the scowl that she would send at him. He could not blame her. Almost every question they had asked him he had to answer in half truths. It was not that he didn't trust them, no. Once his sensory abilities had returned, it was more than easy to realize that they were indeed good people without a doubt.

No, it was because ever since he had awoken in this world, he could not sense chakra in any of the humans he had come across. In nature chakra still flowed strong, with a vibrancy that gladdened his heart. But he had spread out his sensory net, using nature to extend his reach. Not a single human had exhibited signs of chakra. Why? Had the humans in this land never awakened that ability?

Regardless, it meant that he could not explain who he was. Not without drawing scorn, distrust, perhaps even fear. And he did not want these people to direct those emotions at him. Already he had grown fond of them, and saw them as people to safeguard, even from himself, as the situation now stood.

"You twist words more than the bards do," Leola muttered, though her irritation only lasted a few moments, "Well, we'll see how effective your remedy is shall we?"

She bustled off then, a look of concentration on her face as she tried what he had just taught her. He shook his head fondly before heading back to the fields. Sigerich had told him, with his characteristic mixture of bluntness and kindness, that he was free to stay with them so long as he could work in the fields. He had accepted hesitantly, realizing that he would have to learn more about this land before he could venture out of their home. Besides, he would work for them at least until his debt had been paid.

Sigerich and Francesca stood some distance away, getting into yet another secretive conversation as anxiety radiated from them. He had been at the farm for almost two weeks now, and within the first week, he had noticed the first signs that something was wrong. That they were going to sizeable lengths to keep him and Leola in the dark merely amplified that feeling.

"What are going to do, Sigerich?" came Francesca's voice, tinged with worry as it reached his ears. With his heightened senses, it had taken far more effort to deliberately avoid eavesdropping on them. He did not want to violate their trust. But now, with their anxiety reaching new heights, he could no longer hold himself back.

"Be calm, beloved," Sigerich replied, though his voice was haggard, and he radiated just as much anxiety as his wife, "We will find a way."

"These seedlings are near dead, Sigerich! They should be thriving by now. We were wrong to take a gamble on that new merchant."

"What choice did we have, Francesca?" replied Sigerich wearily, "That merchant was the only one with any seeds this season. Without him, we would have had nothing to sow."

"This is not much better than nothing," Francesca quietly before walking a few feet away, her head hanging low. Sigerich had clenched his fists in an open show of emotion, and Hashirama made sure he was facing the other direction. So that was the problem. He had noticed that the crops presented an uninspiring spectable, but Sigerich had assured him that it was normal for such crops to begin their cycle of growth rather late. Looking back at the incident now, he felt rather foolish. He had merely taken Sigerich's word for it, even though his sensory abilities had said differently. But he had been too preoccupied with the other things he had sensed to pay too much attention to the crops.

 _I need to help them_ spoke a voice in his head, the idealistic voice that had never truly faded, even if it had lessened in intensity.

 _But what if they see my abilities as something to be afraid of?_

 _It doesn't matter. They need help. You can help them._

 _I don't want them to hate me._

 _Would you rather they died loving you then? Let them live, even if your friendship is the cost._

And that was that. These were good people, people who had taken him in when all they need have done was carried him out of their fields and to a nearby farm. He could not let them die, even if it meant him leaving their lives forever.

He walked towards Sigerich with slow steps, gathering his chakra after so long. His chakra responded almost joyfully to his will, as he prepared to mold chakra in a way he had not done in so long. Sigerich looked startled by the look he was wearing.

"What is it, Hashirama?" he asked, no traces of his previous anxiety entering his tone.

"I overheard what you were speaking about," he said simply, and Sigerich looked shocked at the admission.

"But how? You were nowhere within earshot!"

Hashirama merely looked at him with a touch of sorrow on his face.

"You have helped me greatly, Sigerich. This I will do to pay my debt," was all he said before he bent on one knee, head bowed as if in prayer as he touched the ground with his hands.

First he molded earth and water chakra together, spreading out his chakra through the Earth. Now he knew every nook and cranny of the land, every insect that dwelt within it, every rivulet of water that passed through it. The seeds had not been rotten, but their life force was faint, as if they had come from harsh lands. All the water and dung in the world would not help them now, for the fault lay at a deeper level.

"Mokuton," he whispered and a faint silver aura surrounded him as he willed his power into existence, feeding the energy to the plants around him as they drew in his chakra hungrily, their cells absorbing the healing chakra that Mokuton could be, when he wanted it to be. He had cultivated the forest near Konoha with his own strength, though he could never understand why it had been dubbed the Forest of Death. He thought it was a lovely place.

Before the thunderstruck eyes of Sigerich and Francesca, the field bloomed into a vision of lush green, from the dying brown it had been a few seconds ago. Leaves sprouted and arched towards the sun as the seedlings began to grow as they should have done from the very start. To his senses, the air around him began to thrum with life as the chakra within them began to radiate brightly. A few seconds more and he ceased the flow of chakra, stepping back and admiring his handiwork.

 _I was afraid something was lost in the time gone_ he pondered, reveling in the fact that his chakra was as potent as ever, and his skill with Mokuton remained unchanged. The exercise had barely caused a dent in his energy, which was only to be expected. Compared to the rapid growth he had to cause during battle, this was rather tame. Sigerich and Francesca looked as they had been struck in the gut, the wind knocked out of them as they surveyed the sight around them with disbelief in their eyes.

"Hashi?" came a hesitant voice and he looked to his side to see Leola, who had walked up to him at some point. So she had seen it too. He looked away from her quickly, and hesitated, wondering if the best thing to do was simply walk away.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when he felt Leola slam into him, drawing him into a tight embrace. Shock radiated through him, and it must have shown on his face, for Sigerich gave a small chuckle and clasped his shoulder with a reasurring hand.

 _No. Are they deceiving me?_ he thought wildly, throwing out his sensory abilities. But no, they were not. He found shock, disbelief, joy. But no anger. No hatred. No fear.

 _They aren't_ he thought disbelievingly, still resisting the emotions he felt. But that resistance was washed away when he saw the radiant smile Francesca sent his way, a smile that was pure in its joy. She had always been rather distant, if not suspicious of him, then at least cautious.

"Thank you," said Sigerich, emotion clouding his voice as he look out at the field once more. Hashirama shook his head immediately, waving away the man's gratitude embarrassedly. He had never grown accustomed to receiving gratitude with grace, not even as Hokage. Tobirama had given up trying to teach him after a point.

"Forget that, I have a far more important question for you," Leola spoke up seriously, stepping away from the embrace.

"When are you going to teach me how to do that?!" she asked him excitedly, and he could almost see the stars shining in her eyes. He sighed, as he realized he would have no peace, at least for the next few days.

Now he would have to explain everything. Beginning with chakra and the land he had once called home. Perhaps he would gloss over some of the details, such as the fact that he had been dead. Even he wasn't sure what had happened after that.

 _Perhaps I should give that wine another try_ he thought despairingly as the family closed in on him, a thousand questions in their eyes, and perhaps a thousand more at the tip of their tongue. He began to back away slowly, wondering if he could make a run for it, if only for a few hours.

He just couldn't catch a break.

* * *

A tall shade lifted his head and sniffed the air. He looked human, save for his red hair and crimson eyes, which shone with malice when a beam of moonlight fell upon his face. The urgals near him shuddered at how eerily restrained their master was, like a cobra waiting to pounce. The shade's thin frame hid a deceptive level of strength - one that they had all come to know well, and did not want to experience firsthand. And so they waited, away from the track, keeping as still and quiet as possible.

His eyes widened as a new wind brought with a scent - a scent that would change the balance of power as it existed now. Oh, his master held the upper hand nonetheless, but there was pleasure to be had in stripping the opponent away of everything. Hopes, dreams, ambitions. And then, when death would be considered a blissful release, rid their pathetically fragile bodies of their souls.

His lips curled up in a cold smile as he tasted the air once more. Yes. Elves had a very distinctive smell, and few wandered beyond the borders of their little patch of foliage in these uncertain times. The informant had not lied to him. Perhaps he would kill him quickly once he had dealt with the elves and the egg they carried.

He waited, sword in hand, and only the small movements he kept making with his sword gave away his impatience as the minutes slowly passed them by. The scent grew ever closer, and in turn, his gaze upon the Urgals grew ever stricter. Cold was beginning to bite at his skin, but he paid it no mind. Fire or smoke was out of the question, for it would alert the elves, and he needed them oblivious. Days of travel would have worn away at their senses, dulling them, though their abilities would still be above what any normal human could possess.

He hissed in displeasure when one particularly clumsy Urgal stomped on dry twigs as the _beast_ tried to warm itself up. If the elves didn't kill this one, he would. And there would be a thousand more to replace this one, Galbatorix had seen to that.

He smiled as another gust of wind brought him the scent, this time so strong that the elves were no doubt nearly upon them. He called forth his power, keeping it at the ready. For now, the wind would not carry their scent to the elves, which was good. Urgals possessed a stench that made his lip curl. If needed, he would mask their scent.

"Ready yourselves. They are almost here," he whispered, and the Urgals immediately froze, the dull look in their eyes now replaced by a cold focus that they only felt when readying themselves for combat. It was what made them ideal cannon fodder.

Soon they came within sight of the Urgals as well, three elves on magnificent white steeds. Even when their intention was to be inconspicuous, the elves could not bear to saddle themselves with something mundane. He would enjoy burning their precious forest when the time came.

He raised a hand, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Soon the horses were passing by them, and suddenly the wind's direction changed. He snarled, even as the horses reared up in fright, alerting their owners.

"Garjzla!" he barked, sending the spell at the woman who was clearly the leader. The spell struck the horse which fell dead, the owner leaping away nimbly at the last second. Already the urgals were storming into the clearing, hacking away at the two guards. The elves were good, no doubt, but the urgals held the advantage through sheer surprise and numbers.

A sadistic smile dominated his face as he moved forward, the deadly gleam of his sword marred only by a thin scratch that had been put there by a particularly annoying human. He would enjoy every second of this. The woman had to be captured alive, so his king had commanded. But the other two elves? They would be beginning for death before the night was through.

* * *

Hashirama was meditating, making the most of the fact that he could exercise his chakra without having to hide it from the people he considered his friends. Once again he using his sensory abilities, for it was the one area where he had fallen short of his previous prowess. Years of self imposed exile and isolation, followed by Kami knew how many more years of...well, death, had made him rusty in the area. And so he extended his senses, overcoming the instinctual urge to withdraw into himself that he had developed in his later years.

As ever, he was disconcerted by the utter lack of human chakra he sensed. It left him with nothing to do but commune through nature, using the ample foliage around them to steadily extend his reach. Sage mode elevated this ability to truly dangerous levels, but in this world, he did not see this ability having much use. Any people he had come across either had no chakra or had coils that were deeply inactive.

And then he came across it - surge of energy that was the sensory equivalent of being slapped on the face. He sprang to his feet, double checking to make sure he hadn't imagined it. There it was - now more energy signatures were springing up in his realm of detection, his eyes wide as he analyzed them.

A large portion of Yin chakra was involved, and there seemed to be no elemental affinities for him to identify. He wasn't even entirely sure if it _was_ Yin chakra. It felt familiar, but not completely the same from how he remembered it, how he wielded it.

 _Oh think about it later!_ he admonished himself _First, find these people before they move farther away. A kilometre or so to the north west._

Then he was off, using his enhanced abilities to flit through large distances in the blink of an eye. His thin clothes did little to stop the cold bite that was entering the evening air, though he was used to far worse. Foliage passed by him in a blur as he kept moving. Growing closer and closer to the area where he had found the signatures.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. A stench so pungent that he no longer needed his sensory abilities to tell him where to go. Then came the sound - an unmistakeable sound of steel clashing against steel. War cries rent the air, making him pick up the pace a little, even as a cynical smile crossed his lips.

It was the very first time he had come across chakra-like energy, and of course it was being used in battle. It seemed this world was not so different from his own after all.

A bloody spectacle greeted him when he moved within visual range of what was happening. Twelve monstrous looking creatures were attacking travelers of some sort. One of the travelers was already dead, Hashirama's eyes widening when he noticed that these travelers weren't human either. Chakra was strong in them, as opposed to the other creatures. But then there was the man who lead the creatures. His chakra shone like a beacon, when compared to the others, though it felt... _wrong._

He cursed when the second traveler crumpled to the ground, struck by a sickly wave of chakra that decided the matter for him. Chakra that sickly could never amount to anything good.

 **Shunshin** he whispered before disappearing in a flash, appearing before the woman traveller, who was desperately trying to fend off three of the creatures that were hacking at her. She was bleeding profusely, but held on with a grim determination. Even as her eyes widened in shock at his sudden appearance, he whirled around and punched the nearest creature in the chest.

The creature gave an inhuman shriek of pain as its body _crumpled_ under the force of his blow, the light leaving its eyes instantly. This surprised even Hashirama, for he had meant for that blow to be the opening salvo.

 _These creatures are as weak as civilians_ he realized as the battle froze for a second, everyone trying to assess the new addition to the field. Hashirama blurred out of sight, maximizing the shock to take out the other two Urgals who were near him with quick strikes to the neck. He was beginning to feel guilty, this was easier the time he had pushed around Tobirama's new students.

"Garjzla!" barked a voice and his eyes widened as a blast of fire shot from the leader's hand, his red eyes gleaming maliciously.

Hashirama channeled chakra into his hands and sent a concentrated blast at the fireball, forcing it to dissipate harmlessly. The shock on the leader's face was priceless, especially since his red eyes and use of fire reminded him greatly of the Uchiha clan, though they were capable of far more.

"You...what are you?" hissed the leader, holding a pale blade expertly, looking ready to charge.

Hashirama said nothing, instead slapping his palms on the ground. **Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu** he thought before exhaling, and a giant fireball roared into existence before speeding towards the leader, who leapt nimbly away. The creatures near him were not so lucky, however, and were incinerated by the fireball, the earth cracking under its force.

" _That_ is how you wield fire," he spoke tauntingly, trying to provoke the leader into making a mistake. That proved to be a mistake however, for a felt a crushing force entering his mind - a feeling he recognized from the time the Yamanaka clan had been his enemies. But this pressure was ten times more painful, and he gritted his teeth as a demonic presence entered his mind, with as much hatred as a tailed beast.

Behind him, he heard the woman cry out in a strange voice, and a bright flash of light covered the trail for a few seconds. When the light had receded, the strange object that he woman had been holding had disappeared in a strong wave of chakra. The red haired man howled with rage, and the distraction lessened the pressure on his mind.

Immediately he clapped his hands together, releasing a powerful wave of Yin chakra that shattered the pressure into a million pieces. Without breaking stride, he used another shunshin to disappear before appearing behind the red eyed leader, using the momentum to strike his skull with a chakra concentrated fist, making the skull explode with the force he had used.

He was panting slightly, the assault on his mind taking a small toll on him. He was grateful Tobirama had come up with some solutions to counteract the mind techniques, for it seemed the entities here wielded them far more proficiently. He shivered slightly when he remembered the presence the other man's mind had created before turning to face the remaining creatures, who had by now begun to run away. He contemplated running after them, but he was distracted when he felt yet another presence entering his mental space. He snarled and disrupted the pressure yet again and turned around, only to find the bleeding woman staring at him cautiously.

"Do that again and I'll snap your neck like a twig," he spoke coldly. He despised it when his mind was invaded. Thus, when the Yamanaka clan had become his allies and part of Konoha, he had asked the clan leader for as much information as possible about the techniques, how to detect them, and how to break them.

"Are we clear?" he pressed a little more forcefully, releasing a little of his chakra. A silver aura flared to life around him, the very air becoming heavy under the pressure. This time the woman nodded immediately, and he allowed the pressure to dissipate.

"I mean you no harm," he continued, this time in a softer tone as he moved towards her, holding up a placating hand as she tensed once more. He gently touched the woman's shoulder. His palm began to shine with a green glow as he channeled healing chakra through his hand and into the woman's body. Soon, her major wounds had stopped bleeding and closed up, the woman staring with shock at what he was doing the whole time.

"A-Are they...?" the woman asked hesitantly, her voice sounding strange and musical to his ears. He noticed for the first time that she had pointed ears, furthering his suspicion that she wasn't human.

"I'm sorry. They are both dead," he replied simply. He had felt the chakra drain from their bodies in tangent with their life force. The woman's expression turned to one of utter anguish, even as she fainted against him.

 _...I could have handled that better_ he chastised himself. Clearly the pain of losing her comrades, in tangent with adrenaline and blood loss had caused her to fall unconscious. He sighed once again. What would he do now? Would the family appreciate it if he brought them yet another stranger?

 _I can't choose on their behalf. They took me in when they didn't have to_ he decided before carefully lifting the woman up in his arms. He also took her sword and strapped it to his side loosely. Then he began moving swiftly in the direction of the farm, his mind racing to process what he had come across.

He had many questions to ask Sigerich when he got back.

* * *

 **I know, I know, Hashirama's personality is quite out of character. But I've dropped some hints as to why that is in this prologue, and I'll continue to develop his past as the story progresses. Trying to make sense of the Inheritance Cycle using Naruto terminology might also be a little clumsy, but that's inevitable with a crossover like this really. Besides, who knows how the two lands are really linked? :r**

 **People who've read my other stories will know that a large portion of what I write surprises even me :P I have a vague idea of the overall outline, but when it comes to the specifics, I'm strapped in for the journey as much as any of you are. So if you have small or large ideas that you think could make my story better, don't hesitate to let me know! This story could very well belong in large portion to the readers as time passes xD**

 **Review, review, review. And then review some more. If I don't know what you think, I won't know what the response to this story is.**

 **Till next time!**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: The response has been staggering. Over 150 follows and favorites based on the prologue alone. It's safe to say that this gives me more than the required incentive to continue this story. I will indeed continue this. So please don't worry.**

 **Why did an update take so long? Well, I joined my postgraduate program for journalism. I'm doing everything from radio to TV to new media to traditional print. Very practical course, meaning I'm running around most of the time. But now I have a fairly regular schedule established, so expect regular updates from now on.**

* * *

He sensed it all from a distance. The surge of pain, rage and hopelessness that had been almost overwhelming. He knew she was awake even before the strangled scream of raw emotion echoed around the farm, causing Sigerich to rush towards the house, where they had tended to the elf woman.

He ran a hand through his hair, frowning deeply as he tried to come to terms with the situation. It was not the first time he had sensed such pain, of course. In a battlefield where dozens could die with a single move and lovers could be torn apart by the silent flash of a kunai, he had sensed all this and more. He had felt it himself when his brothers had died, slaughtered as part of the meaningless war that had raged between the clans.

And that was exactly why he could not bring himself to assist Sigerich in tending to the woman. He had hoped never to feel such raw anguish again.

 _This land does not belong to men alone. Elves, Dwarves, Urgals and Dragons are merely a few of the species that share this land._

That was the only explanation Sigerich had been able to provide before hastening to assist his wife in tending to the elf woman. The concept of other species possessing intelligence was not new to him, of course. There had been the summon clans, and many of them had possessed more intelligence than the average human. What shocked him was the sheer amount of alienness that surrounded him, renewing his questions of what this land truly was.

He grimaced as another wave of anguish washed over him, making him close his eyes. He could not cease to maintain the sensory net he had cast out. With so much he did not know about the races that walked this land and their abilities, he could not be sure that his return to the farm had not been tracked, though he had taken great care to avoid leaving such signs. But precautions taken against enemies of unknown abilities were not precautions he could count upon. And thus he would stand watch.

He returned to the labor he had immersed himself in even as he kept watch - crafting a crude form of ink that he would need to use. Slowly he mixed finely powdered charcoal and water in a clean stone basin, using small wooden stem to stir the mixture together. Mito's lessons called for a much finer preparation of ink - or chakra or blood, as the case called for it - but his need was urgent. He could not keep breaking attacks to his mind by flaring his chakra. A more permanent solution was needed.

"She's heartbroken," Leola's voice reached him quietly from behind as the girl drew close to him, her normal cheer nowhere to be found in her demeanor. He bowed his head slightly in response.

"She is. Her comrades were no doubt very dear to her. She watched them die before her eyes."

"I...I can't imagine how that feels. To have someone dear to you taken away from you like that."

"And I hope the day never comes when you truly know how it feels," Hashirama responded, his eyes fixed on the ink, "The strain can break you from within."

Leola sat next to him, her gaze moving to the swirling black liquid that he was tending to. The rhythm of the liquid was almost hypnotic, and he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into that rhythm in a bid to lessen the emotions he himself was feeling.

"But you know how it feels," she spoke quietly after a few moments. It was not a question, rather, a statement of fact. He nodded once, sharply. He had not told the family the details of his life, but they knew enough to have some idea of the life he had lived.

"Will you help her?"

That question dragged his mind out of the numbing trance it had been sinking into as he turned to Leola with a startled look. She had asked the question with a faint note of pleading in her voice. Already panic was beginning to set in. In the past he had consoled so many people in the same situation. But then he had spoken from idealism. He had spoken of the Will of Fire. As one who had lived the life of a ninja, he had helped other shinobi through their time of loss and grief. Now, he knew not what he would say.

The woman was a complete stranger. He knew not how her race - or she herself - handled grief. Was she like the warriors he had known before? Would his words rings hollow with her, or truly help her? He knew better than most just how much half-hearted words of consolation meant - Almost nothing. And even should he find a way to help her, what reason would she have to trust him, to accept that help just yet?

"I… I am not the right person to help her," he replied hesitantly, unsure of what else he could say that Leola would understand. That powerful desire to help people - It was what had enabled him to become one of the most renowned medics of his time. He had used those skills, time and again, often helping even those who saw him as an enemy.

 _But I can't do it. Not anymore. Healing her physical injuries was easy enough, but how can I heal another's mind without any conviction in my own?_

"Are you not the person who could best understand what she must be going through?" Leola asked, sounding confused by his apparent reluctance to help.

"I healed what assailed her body. But only one who has her trust can aid with the torment of her mind."

"An elf," Leola mused, "The bards sing of them when they pass us by. I never thought I would meet one in my life."

"Why?" he asked, curiosity creeping into his tone, "You say you share the land with these races. Why would you not meet them?"

Leola looked at him with some exasperation, "I often forget that you know almost nothing of this land. Aye, this land has dwarves, elves and other beings. But they have not ventured outside their borders for decades now."

"Why?"

"...The Black King," she whispered, almost silently. It was a name spoken with fear. Not respect. His eyes narrowed. To hear of people spoken with such a tone - He had heard it far too often.

"King Galbatorix," Leola continued in a louder voice, "He has ruled this land for many years now. He is the last dragon rider. He killed every other rider after a bloody struggle, sparing only those who followed him. Then he forcibly took the human throne. The elves and dwarves were defeated and withdrew to their own strongholds. Not even the storytellers may speak of this."

"Then how do you know?" he asked her curiously.

"My father told me when I came of age. He asked me never to speak of it to anyone."

"Sigerich seems to be a very mysterious man," he thought aloud, "For it does not seem like any farmer would know of this."

"Father never speaks of his early days. And I know not to insist that he does."

Hashirama nodded. Sigerich was an easygoing person most of the time, but also held a strong will when it came to the things that mattered to him. Leola stood up from where she sat, stretching lightly before turning away.

"I must see if mother needs any help tending to our guest."

Hashirama turned away as Leola began to walk back to the house. Was there truly nothing he could do? No, her comrades had been beyond the point of saving by the time he had crashed into the fight. Her sword he had recovered when he had brought her back, and it was now resting next to its master. What remained were only the disfigured corpses of her comrades and the Urgals (as he now knew the strange beings to be).

He stood abruptly, an idea entering his mind. Perhaps there _was_ something he could do. Something that would allow her to say farewell to her comrades in a manner of her own choosing.

He looked down at the small pool of ink that he had been mixing. If he was to proceed with his idea, he would need a lot more of it.

* * *

"Thank you for all that you have done," Arya spoke melodiously, dipping her head in gratitude, "I shall never forget the aid I was given here - _sé onr líf waíse ilia._ "

The elven woman stood before the house, fully clothed in her gear once more. Eyes that once conveyed waves of pain now held back emotion strongly as the woman did her best to keep her face impassive. Now, however, a measure of gratitude was visible on her face as she lifted her head once more, hair rippling gently in the wind. One hand hovered protectively over the sword that hung by her hip, as it no doubt would for a while. The attack and its consequences still weighed heavily on her.

Only a day had passed since Leola had spoken to Hashirama, and much had happened in the midst of it. Arya, as the woman had introduced herself, was almost incoherent for the better part of an evening, leaving Francesca and Leola to tend to her, soothing her as best as they could. She had at first spoken in a language none of them had been able to comprehend, though she had later spoken to them in their own tongue.

It intrigued Hashirama that each word she had spoken in the first tongue sent the smallest of ripples through his sensory web. Ripples so minute that he was at first tempted to think of them as aberrations in his net. But no, every sound she had uttered was like a drop of water falling into an ocean. A minute presence, but a presence nonetheless. What made it even more curious was that the woman had not emanated the signs of consciously kneading chakra whilst speaking.

Sigerich dipped his head in return, as a gesture of mutual respect, "May the winds be at your back, and may you return home safely."

"I am certain you will," Francesca added, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she studied the person standing next to Arya, "After all, you have a very reliable guardian."

Hashirama Senju, God of Shinobi, Creator of Konoha, Wielder of Mokuton, Tamer of the Tailed Beasts was at present exercising years of lessons in politics to accomplish one simple task - To not pout like a child.

It did not seem to be working, however, for Leola seemed to be regarding him with an annoyingly knowing look. For one who had only known him for a few weeks, he found that she could read him surprisingly well. He had never developed what one would call a guarded face. Emotions he had worn on his sleeve freely, much to Tobirama's perturbation. His little brother's efforts to drill lessons of diplomacy into his head had not met with much success.

"Oh don't look so unhappy Hashi," Leola chirped cheerfully, almost enjoying the half hearted glare he sent her. He was still trying to process how things had managed to turn out like this.

It had begun as a simple gesture. The bodies of her comrades would still be at the scene of the battle, and carrion would begin to pick them apart until they were a mangled mess of bones. Travellers passing by would simply see it as a sign of how troubled times were, and the remains would be left to rot in anonymity. Hashirama wanted to recover the bodies, to give Arya the chance to honor her friends in whatever manner she saw fit. That much was within his power to do.

The bodies he retrieved easily enough, keeping them some distance away from the house so the scent of death would not disturb the farm animals or the family. It was then that he went to face the woman for the first time since she had lost consciousness. He felt a twinge of guilt for threatening to end her the very first time they had spoken. But what she had attempted was something he disliked intensely.

He shook his head, returning to the present as Arya glanced at him, her almond shaped emerald eyes regarding him not with distrust or fright, but with something akin to gratitude. Though elves had no one way of sending off their dead, Arya had buried her comrades near the farm, planting a single sapling over each grave. The scene had been so emotionally charged that even he felt his emotions stirring. Then she had starting singing. A hauntingly beautiful song had echoed around the farm, each note moulding chakra around the plant. His eyes had widened with amazement as the saplings responded to Arya, twisting, growing and unfurling in shades of green until they appeared to be several weeks old

 _The Mokuton. She's singing the Mokuton into existence_ he had thought in awe. It was on a minute level compared to what he was capable of, but this was the first time he had seen another living soul wield a similar power.

"Are you certain you will not stay a while longer?" Francesca asked worriedly, "Hashirama might have healed you, but a few days of recovery would not go amiss."

"My Queen has asked me to return at once. I cannot disobey her command," Arya replied simply, but Hashirama sensed something deeper in her tone and manner when she spoke of the queen, "Furthermore, every moment I am here heightens the danger around you. My enemies are not easily thwarted. They will never cease to hunt for me. The Mad King has far worse at his command than human soldiers."

Privately, Hashirama agreed with her assessment. If what Arya carried truly was of such value - and she had not spoken of it yet - then it was unlikely that they would stop searching for it. He would prefer for her to leave before any harm was brought to bear on the family. And if the price for that was his accompaniment, then so be it. Nothing but empty time stretched before him. Perhaps he would travel further after accompanying Arya and learn more of Alagaesia.

"Are you certain you will be able to follow?" Arya asked, addressing him directly as they turned away from the family, a faint note of condescension in her eyes, "Elves can run faster than any human. Perhaps it would be wise for you to acquire a steed."

Hashirama merely smiled at the family one last time before looking at Leola.

"Remember the amulet Leola. Keep it with you always."

Leola nodded silently, her eyes beginning to tear up. He looked away quickly, having no desire to prolong the farewell. These people had quickly grown on him in the short time he had known them. He would return some day, of that he was certain.

He then turned to face Arya, the ghost of a smile on his face.

"I believe I will be able to cope somehow. Please, lead the way."

The elf flicked her raven black hair out of her face, skepticism radiating from her eyes as she turned away and began to run across the farm, her legs carrying her at a surprisingly fast speed as she was already halfway across the farm. Her form was graceful, controlled, with no wasted movements. Hashirama nodded in approval almost unconsciously. It seemed the elves were held in respect for good reasons. No doubt Arya thought he was merely being prideful, and would acknowledge his weakness soon.

He would hate to disappoint her.

* * *

Now she remembered. The course of the battle that had so far been a hazy memory in her mind, despite her best efforts to remember it. She had only been able to recall vague blurs as the Urgals had fallen, one by one. She had seen Hashirama walk towards her, stepping through a river of blood and bone. The weak mental assault she had been able to muster was repelled viciously, and she had fully expected to join Faolin and Glenwing in death.

But now. Now irritation bubbled and festered in her mind, her customary stoicism lost to what she was experiencing. How was this even possible?

She saw him in the distance once more, sitting on a rock and staring idly at the sky as if he had all the time in the world. He looked at her with amusement in his eyes as she sprinted past him, now driving her body to run as fast as she could. He made no attempt to follow her, choosing merely to remain where he was.

Just as he had done a few leagues ago. And a few leagues before that. And a few leagues before that.

When he had assured her that he could keep up with her speed, she had assumed it was mere pride from a human male. She had run slowly, fully expecting him to break down and purchase for himself a steed at the next village. And she had felt victorious when, after a few leagues, he was nowhere to be seen. It was simply a matter of fact. No human could match an elf in speed. Or so she had thought.

Arya's eyes narrowed as she forced her mind back to the present. This man possessed speeds no elf could match. And he was not even perspiring or out of breath! Everything about him was an enigma. But one thing was clear - He held great power. Perhaps he could be persuaded to join the elves and the Varden against Galbatorix. Against the Mad King, they needed every advantage they could find.

Now she passed by him once more. This time, he looked to be deep asleep as she ran past him.

Well, whether or not his power aided the Varden would be dependent on if she could restrain herself from killing him for the duration of the journey. It had been long since an elf's self control had slipped so far.

* * *

"Keep searching you fucking dogs," growled the captain as he shifted gingerly on his saddle, "Or would you scoff at a command from the King himself?"

He was angry. This was a position that had been gifted to him on account of his rather influential family. Not influential enough to work with the nobility, but the post of captain suited him perfectly. Commoners bowed to him in the street. He took what he wished, be it food, ale or women. Who would dare raise their hand against an agent of the Black King himself? Not the foolish rebels. They were too far away, he had made certain of that when deciding which city he wanted to serve in. Not the beast-like non-humans. Unnatural abominations. Their reckoning was nigh.

 _And yet, never have our orders been so forceful. So...frightened._

His men looked haggard and drawn, the long days in the saddle taking its toll on them. They were greenhorns, with very few having seen more than the occasional street riot. Their armor shone brightly, but their swords were rusted.

He stopped to pat himself on the back, immensely pleased with what he had just thought of. So many days in the saddle, and yet he coined poetry that would rival the Imperial poets themselves. Perhaps he would use this to inspire his men when he next addressed them.

Oh, he dwelt very little on the very purpose of his mission - the reason why he was riding through the wastelands and not idling away in his mansion. His orders were simple - _Be on the lookout for an elven woman and a foreign-looking dark haired man. Apprehend immediately and bring them to the dungeons of Dras-Leona._

The king's personal hunters were far away on another mission, and it fell to soldiers like him to take upon their place. But the ground he would have to cover was vast, and there were countless other patrols hunting through the lands where the duo had last been seen. It was far more likely that one of those patrols would be the one to find them. He would simply stay out for a few days, perhaps stop a wagon or two and rightly appropriate some of its contents for himself.

 _But really. Taking those rutting horned beasts at their word. I would trust them to swing an axe and nothing else. And even then, I would not trust them to swing solely at the enemy_ he snorted to king intended them as cannon fodder of course. That was something he agreed with heartily. Why place humans in harm's way when you could simply use mindless beasts instead?

"Sir," rasped his Sergeant's voice from his left side, "I see traces of smoke ahead. Could be a campfire of some sort. Your orders?"

He pondered the question for a moment. Perhaps it was a merchant's convoy, halting for the night in a secluded spot.

 _Now that I think on it, this is the time when the wine merchants peddle their best wares. I do believe my cellar needs a little replenishing._

He gestured for his men to pick up the pace. The cold night would be far more bearable with some mead in his belly. After all, what were the chances that he would run into the fugitives here of all places?

* * *

"Will you perhaps now deign to tell me why you felt compelled to outright attract an Imperial patrol to our location?" Hashirama heard Arya ask coolly. While her tone was perfectly controlled, the emotions he sensed from her, while faint, were anything but controlled. He chuckled internally. After the day he had put her through, that was not very surprising. If anything, he was impressed by the grasp she had over her emotions. It had been a while since he had allowed himself to indulge in some childish behavior. Now, however, it was time to move on to more serious matter.

He had sensed the Imperial patrol quite some time ago, and instead of trying to move away from them, he had asked Arya to set up camp exactly where they were. He had then gone out of his way to lay a few trails, not so conspicuous as to make the patrol suspicious, but enough to draw their attention at the very least.

"There are certain things I require from them," he answered in a pleasant tone, "Fret not. Your safety will not be compromised. No one will notice that a patrol is missing for quite a while, and by then we should be within this Du Weldenvarden place you speak of."

"It is not my safety I am concerned about," Arya replied, and this time her tone was even colder. Hashirama shrugged, and turned back to face the direction the patrol was approaching them from. His eyes steadily widened in disbelief as he realized that these soldiers were making no attempt to spread out and try to surround the camp. Even the children of his time knew this was the basic way to contain people within a space. The idiot who was leading this squad had just rendered the advantage of numbers useless.

 _Well, in all fairness, surely they would have been unsuccessful even with the right strategy?_ whispered a voice in his head.

 _That is not the point_ Hashirama reprimanded the voice within his own head _It is the principle of the matter._

Now Arya was able to sense the patrol as well, and she tensed. Once again he felt within her that odd energy. Not quite reminiscent of chakra, and yet not completely different. He sensed Nature strong within that energy as it emitted waves of peace to his senses. The shadow of a smile crossed his face. It was always a joy when he sensed chakra such as that, instead of the corruptive chakra that he had so often encountered.

"Well then," Hashirama said, cracking his shoulders slightly, "I'll be going ahead."

He vanished in a burst of speed, using a moderately powered shunshin to land silently on top of a tree that the patrol was passing under. Immediately some of the horses reared nervously, no doubt catching his scent. Hashirama felt like slapping his forehead when the soldiers merely chose to ignore the horses, a few of them even striking the beasts to silence them. Were these truly what passed muster for soldiers in this land? These people did not even deserve a head-on fight.

" _ **Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!"**_

A torrential blast of wind hit the patrol's rear flank, blowing away man and beast alike with a ferocious violence. Sounds of fear and alarm filled the air as some of the soldiers died immediately, crushed by the weight of horses falling atop them. He vanished in a burst of speed and appeared in front of the main body, even as every single soldier still standing turned to face the carnage behind them.

In one smooth motion he snapped the neck of the nearest soldier before grabbing his broadsword and decapitating four more with quick, clean strokes. He disappeared even as blood spurted into the air in a frenzied shower, the metallic smell driving the horses to even further madness. They threw off their riders and bolted into the night, leaving a few sorry-looking remnants to stumble to their feet and look around wildly.

"Thrysta!" a female voice shouted, and Hashirama watched with detached interest as two soldiers' necks broke cleanly and they fell to the ground like puppets whose strings had been cut. Not as flashy as most jutsu, but clearly very effective. Now only three soldiers remained, and Arya weaved around them delicately, almost as if she was in a dance. Her thin sword flashed in and out of sight, each flash signalled by the death of a soldier.

Within seconds, they stood surrounded by corpses. Hashirama smirked as he sensed the captain fleeing the perimeter as fast as he could. He was moving with the grace of a one-legged pig trying to pirouette, and his armor clanked loudly, the sound magnified by the otherwise silent surroundings.

"Seeing as you made a point of not attacking him, I presume you wish to keep him alive?" Arya asked as she flicked her blade to the side, throwing off the blood that clung to it.

"Yes. I'll just go fetch him, shall I?" Hashirama asked before disappearing with a body flicker, reappearing only a few moments later while holding the captain by the scruff of his neck. He dropped the captain on the floor, where the fat man immediately curled into a foetal position, blubbering as he tried to shield himself.

"M-Monsters. S-stay away!"

Hashirama looked up at Arya, "This man is certain to hold information on the measures taken to capture us. Will you delve into his mind and find what is required?"

There was something disturbingly familiar about this routine. The Yamanaka clan had quickly become an important part of Konoha's strategy after all. Tobirama in particular had considered them one of the most important assets of the village. Arya already seemed to be delving into the captain's mind, her face betraying no visible trace of what she was doing, except perhaps a slightly distant look in her eyes.

"I have what we need," she announced a few minutes later and immediately Hashirama snapped the man's neck cleanly, cutting off the torrential stream of begging, threatening and cajoling. He then slipped the captain's knife out of its sheath before rummaging around the soldiers, trying to find an undamaged piece of good-quality leather. He would need it to fortify his greatest weakness at the moment - his mind. One soldier wore some sort of leather jerkin underneath his armor - exactly what Hashirama needed. He used the knife to cut out a clean square of leather, wincing as he realized just how badly the fat captain had maintained his weapons.

He looked up, only to see plain disdain on Arya's face as she surveyed him. He suddenly realized how it looked. Ninja were used to foraging for supplies. He never had cause to do it beyond his childhood years. The Senju clan had been quite prosperous due to their strength, and he had never wanted for supplies. But here was someone who probably never had cause to relieve the dead of their possessions. Nevertheless, she turned away silently, walking back to the camp they had set up. He had no illusions as to the esteem she now held him in, however. Well, it did not truly matter. He would need a while to work on the leather, and the campsite was as good a place as any.

Inscribe a seal array on the leather designed to use his chakra to protect him from mental attacks. Fold it in the shape of a talisman. Power the talisman with chakra-infused blood. Mito had come up with this idea as a safeguard, and it had proved to be useful, to say the least. For so long as he had chakra, the talisman would draw from it to keep his mind protected.

 _Entering the land of these elves without some protection would be foolish. From what Sigerich said, all elves possess the ability to use this "magic". As a race, it's very likely they are the most dangerous._

* * *

"Magnificent," Hashirama breathed, awe filling his entire being as he allowed the presence of the forest to envelop him. It had been quite a few hours since they had entered Du Weldenvarden, and as the trees grew older, he found his amazement growing in intensity. It was so heart wrenchingly nostalgic - nature energy cling so thickly to the air. He had only experienced it in a few places, such as the forest he had created next to Konoha. He could never fathom why the others had taken to calling it the Forest of Death after a while. Sure, a few of the plants there were poisonous. And sure, it became the home of quite a few high-level beast- No, he could understand why.

But he himself had never felt that way. His forest would always welcome him warmly, the trees creaking as if they almost wanted to move, to welcome him with branches and roots. But his forest had been like a toddler compared to the forest he was now in. The life forces were ancient, and most of the trees eclipsed his entire lifespan by a considerable margin. The forest didn't greet him wholeheartedly, but his own chakra was resonating with the energy surrounding the forest, and it greeted him cautiously, but with joy.

"Never would I have thought to see such an expression from you," Arya's voice commented softly beside him. Even she was visibly relaxed now that they were deep within the forest. She wasn't as able to commune with the forest's energy as he was, but he guessed she could sense the lives around her. It was a curious exercise that he couldn't help but relate to yin energy and negative emotions sensing. Theory had never appealed to him. He had intuited everything he knew about chakra and its usage. Of course, without his "ridiculous healing ability" as Tobirama referred to it, he might have had a harder time surviving some of his more outlandish schemes.

"I no longer harbor any regrets for making this journey," he answered in a rare moment of sincerity, "This forest is breathtaking. I could bask within it for years and still not lose the sense of wonderment I now feel."

"Indeed?" Arya asked, sounding mildly bemused, "Most races are threatened by this forest. For good reason, of course. Those who enter it with hostile intentions do not usually leave unscathed, if at all."

Hashirama shrugged, "If anything has revealed itself over the last few days, it is that I am not most beings."

"You certainly are confusing," Arya agreed in her musical tone, "You defy any attempt I have made to understand you."

Hashirama's smiled turned bitter, something that did not escape the raven-haired elf's attention.

"If it lessens your confusion, even I do not know who I am anymore. I don't think I've known for a very long time now."

"Almost anything that is lost can be regained once more," Arya spoke softly, "Who is to say you will not find what you lost?"

 _I think this is the closest we've ever come to a friendly discussion so far. Perhaps her distrust of me has lessened now that we have entered her land_ he mused to himself. Then again, the fact that he hadn't annoyed her beyond the first day could have been an important contributor as well.

Hashirama frowned and halted as a new life force entered his field of vision, blazing brightly. What worried him was that the signature was very, very close by. How had it evaded his sensory net for so long? And if it had, did it mean it now _chose_ to reveal itself?

 _No_ he realized as he studied the signature with an almost frightening intensity _The life force is so at one with the forest that it is hard to tell one from the other. It is so much like my own signature when I use Sage mode. Who is this person?_

"I sense someone," he told Arya in response to her enquiring look, "Very close to us. I assume it is one of your people?"

He readied himself even as he asked the question. The line between cautiousness and paranoia had blurred a long time ago for him. Arya wore a startled look on her face before her expression suddenly cleared. It appeared as if she knew who this presence was, or at least had a very good guess.

"Gilderien-elda," she spoke reverently. Even as she spoke, Hashirama's eyes widened as he beheld an ancient elf dressed in the purest of whites, a silver circlet on his head. The elf seemed to appear out of nowhere, as if he were a wraith. His eyes looked old, old beyond measure. For the first time in decades, Hashirama felt like a child standing in front of an old man. Oh, he knew Arya nearly matched him in age, but this was different. This man radiated wisdom in a way he had never seen before.

Arya bowed her head immediately, making Gilderien smile slightly at her. He then turned to face Hashirama, a quizzical look on his face. Curiosity shone from the elf's eyes even as Hashirama felt a considerable amount of his chakra being drained by the talisman.

"My mind is my own," he spoke sharply, making Arya look at him with an utterly scandalized expression. The pull receded immediately however, and Gilderien merely tilted his head, continuing to observe him silently.

"None may pass without his approval," hissed Arya, "Forfeit your mind for but a moment or turn back now."

"Then I shall turn back," Hashirama replied coldly. The forest, magnificent as it was, would not find him within it much longer if it meant giving up his mind. Arya looked openly conflicted at this. On the one hand, he was the man who rescued her, and thereby deserved the hospitality of the elves. On the other, Gilderien had guarded their hallowed lands since the time of the war against the dragons.

Gilderien held up a hand, a serene expression on his face. Hashirama looked at him, puzzled at what he wanted. The elf then adopted an expression of expectation, as if waiting for Hashirama to do something.

"What is his purpose here?" he asked Arya in a low tone.

"Gilderien-elda has guarded this forest for countless years. He seeks to ensure that you mean us no harm. Only then may you pass," Arya replied stiffly, clearly disapproving of his stubbornness.

 _Proof of good will_ Hashirama pondered. It was not an unreasonable stance to take by any means. Reading minds certainly removed the possibility of falsehood. And yet, he could not bring himself to surrender his mind. This Gilderien seemed to be waiting for something else, however. What else could he do to convince this guardian? Suddenly, Hashirama's eyes widened.

 _Could he have sensed…?_

Hashirama raised his head silently, allowing the literal flood of natural energy surrounding him to enter his body. The forest stilled suddenly - the trees groaning and rustling as they almost bent perceptibly towards him. The familiar red markings appeared around his eyes as well as his forehead. Gilderien merely smiled, as if he had expected this to happen. Arya looked shocked at the dense amount of energy he was emitting. A feeling of serenity enveloped the entirety of his being.

" _ **Mokuton: Kaika no Sakura"**_

A beautiful sakura tree sprouted from the ground, Hashirama weaving his wood release skillfully to allow it to grow even in the dense forest. The blossoms glowed with a pale, ethereal beauty even as the nostalgic smell filled the air. He had loved creating sakura trees within the Senju clan's compound. It was amidst those gardens that he and Mito truly learned about each other. It was where he had carried his granddaughter on his shoulders in those rare moments of peace he'd found.

 _Mokuton was truly the perfect power to complement the ideals I held_ he thought nostalgically. From what Arya had told him and what he had sensed, elves shared a sacred bond with nature. Perhaps exhibiting his own unique connection with nature would be enough to earn the trust required to let him pass further. He opened his eyes, allowing the red marks to fade away as he stopped maintaing sage mode. He didn't need to use Sage Mode for Mokuton of course. But taking in the natural energy surrounding him allowed him to create life that would be compatible with the life around it. It would _feel_ more familiar.

Gilderien smiled, the soft white light within him growing until it shone with an almost painful intensity. Even as the light began to fade away, Hashirama's sensory net failed to detect the aged elf. He sighed in frustration. That ability could give him a lot of trouble if many elves could use it. The only saving grace was that when he was in sage mode, he had been able to sense Gilderien quite easily.

"Never has anyone spoken to Gilderien-elda in that manner," Arya spoke faintly, trying to bolster her tone with sternness.

"That it hasn't happened before is no reason for why it shouldn't happen now," Hashirama quipped immediately. That sentence summed up many of his ambitions. Creating a power unique to him. Creating Konoha out of the warring tribes. Taming the bijuu. Every time people had told him it was impossible, that no one had ever accomplished such a task.

 _Although I would like to meet this guardian once more. His presence was like nothing I'd ever felt before._

Arya sighed and closed her eyes for a few moments. He stood patiently by the tree that he had created, snickering internally at the irritation she was feeling. Oh, it made him feel young again, being around people who were well over a hundred years old, and yet were considered young.

"Let us proceed. Gilderien-elda has given us passage, and none will harm you, though many may see you as hostile," Arya finally decided, stalking ahead without waiting for him to follow. Hashirama slowly pushed himself off the tree trunk he had been leaning against, the ghost of a playful smile on his face.

"I don't believe I'll get tired of pulling her leg any time soon."

* * *

"My king, the Ra'zac have departed Dras Leona as per your orders," Alesan's voice trembled, his young frame shivering as he knelt on the cold floor. The sound of a quill scratching against parchment continued as his king didn't even incline his head at the news. But he knew not to be deceived by how the king appeared.

Ever since Lord Durza had gone missing, the Palace had been shrouded in fear as the king's rage washed over them silently. Already two sentinels had been killed for no apparent reason. The maids who tended to the king's personal chambers often had to be calmed down with herbs, so their hands would not shake too much and break something.

"Good. Any news you are given about this must reach me immediately, no matter the hour," replied a deep, rich voice, the quill finally laid aside as the king stood and walked towards a large square of parchment that clung to a wall, no doubt with the aid of magic. The _or else_ was now implied. He no longer had to be reminded of what would happen in the event of his failure.

"Not all of my subordinates are as unworthy as that bumbling fool Durza, thankfully," Galbatorix spoke, still using that same deceptively calm tone, "My other project proceeds as planned. How proceeds the study of the Hadarac ruins?"

"Well, your majesty. Their magician talks to ours regularly. Nothing goes amiss."

"Those idiot nomads no longer attack them?"

"No, my king. Now they merely keep watch, drawing no closer.'

"Good. Those worms will burrow back into the sand soon enough."

The king snapped his fingers, prompting Alesan to almost trip over himself as he hastened to the door, relief flooding every fiber of his being. But even as the heavy wooden door swung shut behind him, he heard the king speak a little more.

"Soon. The secrets of those ruins will be mine, just as the Name will be mine."

* * *

 **A/N: As always, review. Review. Then review some more. It's the fuel that runs my engine. Until next time! Oh, and check out my other stories, see if you find something you like.**

 **ShoredKakfa.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Well then. Where to start? My city has been flooded for the last week, and we might not be out of the danger zone yet. As always, where there was great tragedy, we also found the most profound gestures of human magnanimity. People shed all those identities that they might otherwise have used as reasons to fight each other and instead banded together. I have never been more convinced in the fact that humanity as a whole can only unite when facing something that** _ **needs**_ **them to unite together.**

 **Anyways, between not having power for nearly a week, collapsing roads, etc...this has been delayed more than it should have been. In any case, some semblance of normality has returned, and I'm glad I'm able to put up this chapter. The response to this story has been amazing. Actually, the responses to both my active stories have been amazing. I hope to see the same kind of reception continue for this as well.**

 **Without further ado, here's the latest chapter.**

* * *

"It is imperative that you not forget," Arya stressed yet again, "You will be greeting the most powerful Houses of the elven race. A word mispronounced could be a great slight to them. Please repeat the greeting in order once more."

Hashirama sighed, but decided to humor the brunette. She had displayed great agitation ever since they had passed the boundary guarded by Gilderien. Already he could feel dozens of life energies some distance away. The roof of the forest had started to thin, and small rays of sunshine crept softly onto the forest floor. All signs indicated they were approaching a clearing of some sort.

" _Atra esterní ono thelduin,"_ he chanted, the words long since committed to his memory. That he normally shied away from diplomacy did not mean he lacked the talent for it. He simply lacked the patience. And interest.

" _Atra du evarínya ono varda,"_ Arya replied in a practiced tone. Already he felt the itch of boredom creep up on him. Who made a greeting last for three sentences? Then again, he had been in battles that had lasted for more than a week. He supposed he really had no leg to stand on when it came to criticizing length of time.

" _Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr,"_ he finished, even as he cast an eye over the forest floor. As they drew closer to the life sources he sensed, he noticed the ground now filled with dense patches of colorful flowers. The intoxicating aromas that filled the air gave him a sense of peace, as if the wild forest he had passed through was naught but a distant memory.

His sharp eyes picked out trails - patterns in the woods that would perhaps go unnoticed by a less observant eye. Houses were constructed out of the trees themselves, something that made his breath catch for a second. To see a skill that had been unique to him alone being used this artistically was something he still had not anticipated. The _level_ of power was still rudimentary, but these elves had used their limited control with finesse and grace. His respect for them continued to grow slowly as they walked deeper into the city of Ellesmera.

No, not just a city. This was a _haven._

Already elves were appearing slowly out of the surrounding trees, their bright eyes filled with equal measures of joy and apprehension. They were garbed in robes of rustic brown and green, with dabs of the other colors of nature.

 _Well. Might as well try for a decent first impression._

He touched his lips in greeting, and many of the elves returned the gesture, breaking out into dazzling smiles as they did so. His sensory net felt joy, no doubt at the sight of one of their own returning to them. Caution and wariness he found in doses that seemed normal, while outright hostility seemed to be absent, at least from those gathered around him. Seeing as most strangers he had come across before usually did their best to kill him, he found this atmosphere downright hospitable.

"The way you live together with nature is remarkable," he told Arya in a rare moment of civility.

"Yes, we sing to the forest in the old tongue and give it our strength to grow in the way we desire," Arya replied in an equally surprising display of politeness. Perhaps it was something in the pollen.

The path ended in a cluster of roots that wove together in the form of steps, leading to a door that swung open of its own accord. A hall of trees greeted his sight as he climbed the steps together with Arya, hundreds of sturdy branches meeting together to form the ceiling. Twelve chairs were placed on either side of the hall, and at the other end of the hall was a beautiful white pavilion that sheltered a throne of knotted roots.

Twenty four elven lords and ladies sat on the chairs on either side of the hall. Where the elves he had seen before exuded youth despite their age, the ones gathered before him appeared old even by elven standards. Their life forces blazed resplendently, showing him how long they had walked the land. He had once been considered inhuman, the strong life chakra in his control granting him an unnaturally long lifespan. That lifespan now seemed insignificant in comparison.

At the head of the hall sat Queen Islanzadí. She exuded an imperious beauty that held his gaze for a few moments. Raven hair was bound with a diamond diadem, and she was dressed in robes of crimson. An ivory-white raven perched on a rod beside the queen, gazing at Hashirama with an eerie intelligence.

" _Wyrda!"_ it shrieked, startling Hashirama profoundly. Only summon clans could display this level of intelligence in his time. And there was such a thing as the Crow contract. But no, he had already tried summoning Katsuyu, to no avail. This raven, whatever it was, could not be a summon. He sighed discreetly even as he realized this. It would not do to get his hopes up so easily every time.

So lost was he in observing the raven that he almost missed the sight of Islanzadí rising from her throne, her imposing presence giving way to something more...uncertain, even as he suddenly felt regret rushing around like, turbulent like a river. She moved slowly before them before placing her hands on Arya, commanding her to rise. Next to him, Arya flitted through emotions so quickly that he was hard pressed to identify them all. One thing was clear. There was history between the queen and her.

"O my daughter, I have wronged you!"

 _Well. That turned out to be an understatement._

* * *

"Islanzadí Dröttning," Arya spoke formally, making Hashirama wince internally at how distant she sounded. The queen drew back, as if stung, before continuing in a language Hashirama could recognize as the Ancient Language, but not follow. He stood stoically as the emotions running through the hall washed over him.

From the queen he sensed regret, shame, relief and love. Arya was hurt, though one would never guess it simply by looking at her. She was also confused, as if unsure of how to respond. She hesitated, then spoke a line that made relief and joy wash throughout the hall. It appeared they had reached an understanding of some sort. Then he could _feel_ the attention of the entire hall turn to him. It was only out of long practice that he was able to stop himself from fidgeting.

"You must excuse my discourtesy," the queen spoke, switching to the language he was familiar with, "To you, the one who saved my daughter and escorted her safely home, I express my heartfelt gratitude."

He touched his lips and inclined his head slightly in a gesture of respect.

" _Islanzadí Dröttning_. _Atra esterní ono thelduin,"_ he spoke softly, knowing that to their sensitive ears, his words would ring clear.

Surprise radiated from the queen as he stood straight again, waiting for the exchange to continue.

" _Atra du evarínya ono varda."_

" _Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr,"_ he finished. The hushed whispers that had swept the room when Islanzadí and Arya had finished speaking now started again with renewed vigor. Of the emotions he sensed, caution was the predominant one. And even then, the emotions were almost frighteningly well suppressed. Islanzadí, as a mother, clearly felt emotions too strong to contain, but the lords and ladies in the hall - the emotions they exuded passed through his net like a soft breeze.

 _Well. It's been a long time since I was one of the youngest in any room_ he thought with mild amusement.

"What is your name, stranger?" Islanzadí asked.

"Hashirama Senju, your majesty," he replied simply. The name of the Senju clan was all but forgotten now, but he could not part from it yet. It meant too much to him. It was odd, putting his own name before that of his clan.

The elven queen's eyes flitted to meet his own curiously, and he felt an uncomfortable sensation, as if he was being studied down to the most minute detail. He stared back simply, content to let her speak.

"It is an unusual name you bear," she began, walking towards him softly, "For centuries we elves have walked this earth, and though we now choose to isolate ourselves, this name does not have roots in any race that we know of."

He inclined his head, but otherwise said nothing. His was not a secret to be told in first meetings. This led to some discontent murmurings to break out through the hall, and the general feeling of suspicion increased slightly at his reticence. Well. _Now_ the atmosphere felt more familiar. At least there wasn't any killing intent being thrown at him yet.

"Your reticence is...troubling," Islanzadí said, a slight frown marring her otherwise perfect face.

"Indeed. In times as turbulent as this one, such reticence could be seen as blatant disrespect," spoke up another voice, smooth as oil, and yet practically screaming suspicion. It was the first time he had come across an elven voice that was anything but musical. He looked to his left, only to see a silver-haired, ebony-eyed elf rising from his seat, his tall stature only increasing the effect of his displeased countenance.

"Lord Fiolr," Islanzadí spoke calmly, but the power behind the voice was clear. The elf lord unflinchingly resumed his seat, looking as if he had never spoken or stood in the first place. Rather frighteningly, his face was schooled to one of mild indifference, and even the flow of hostile emotions from him never rose above a bare trickle.

 _Ugh. This mental discipline is going to be a pain in the ass._

"I have never denied being a private individual, Islanzadí Dröttning," he spoke calmly, his eyebrow twitching at the muted outrage he sensed. Seriously. They were like a daimyo's courtiers, just fawning over the ruler.

 _Please. Genins meeting you for the first time were a lot worse_ snickered a snide voice in his mind. He righteously pushed that voice aside. They hadn't been that bad.

Maybe.

"You must understand, as cautious as you are about me, I am about you as well," he continued, and this time Arya tensed noticeably, "This makes me uneasy when it comes to revealing information about myself."

"You ask for trust. Too much, I am inclined to think, in these times of uncertainty," Islanzadí pronounced, walking towards smoothly. The Lords whispered in low voices, seemingly agreeing with what the queen said.

 _So do you_ he retorted mentally, but mercifully, held his tongue. He liked this forest. He wanted to stick around for a while longer and explore it further. Really, all this paranoia. It filled him with a warm, familiar feeling. It felt like a meeting of Kages.

"My daughter," Islanzadí called suddenly, making emerald green eyes snap to face her immediately, "What say you on this matter? You have known this man the longest. It is you who owes him a debt."

Hashirama groaned internally. He had just spent the last few days mercilessly messing with this elf. And now she got the deciding voice when it came to his fate? He would probably be sentenced to immediate execution if she felt vindictive. Whether or not there was anyone here capable of carrying out such a sentence - That was another matter entirely.

"He is an unknown," Arya replied in a steady voice, not even glancing at him as she spoke, "Though he appears human, he exhibits capabilities that even Durza could not match. Never did I imagine a Shade could be killed so easily, even if he was not pierced through the heart. His powers with magic are considerable, though he does not wield them in any traditional form."

Many of the lords assembled visibly showed shock at this news. Islanzadí remained as impassive as ever, but he had the feeling this news had been kept from many of those assembled intentionally.

"If I may interrupt the Ambassador," cut in the silky voice of the Lord who had been identified as Fiolr, earning himself a sharp look from Arya, "Durza has remained a thorn in our side since the fall of the Riders themselves. Are we to believe this...man caused the fall of the Shade?"

 _He made the word 'man' sound so much like an insult_ Hashirama thought disgruntledly _Too easily people underestimate the power of humanity and cast it away for what they see as greater power. Like that guy with tentacles coming out of his body. More hearts just mean more vital points to strike. Idiot._

"My daughter conveyed this information to me shortly after the kidnapping attempt was foiled. Hashirama Senju- _finiarel_ was indeed instrumental in stopping the kidnapping of our ambassador," Islanzadí confirmed.

"May I ask why we were not made aware of this earlier?" Fiolr continued in the same smooth tone, though the underlying implications were more than clear.

"The Lords present in person were informed. Given the nature of the information, it was decided that the return of the Ambassador was paramount. Summons were sent to every lord with the intention of hearing the information from the witnesses themselves," Islanzadí replied cordially. Hashirama was starting to feel like a non-entity at this point. Games that had most likely been played for hundreds of years were unfolding before him.

"The Queen speaks true Lord Fiolr," the elf closest to Islanzadí rose, "The Lords present in the capital were informed immediately."

"Very well, Lord Dathedr," Fiolr replied easily, "I am grateful we are being informed now, at the very least."

"Continue, my daughter," Islanzadí commanded after a few moments of silence.

"He has given no indication that he wishes to ally with the Varden any other group fighting against the Black King. Nor does he seem to have any ties with them. It is my belief that we may welcome him as a guest, but not an ally. Gilderien-elda himself allowed us both passage, he would not have done so if Hashirama meant us any harm. And…"

Here Arya bowed her head slightly, "I owe him a life debt. It is no mystery what would have happened had I fallen into the hands of the enemy."

"No," agreed Islanzadí, and the air somehow felt a little heavier as she continued speaking, "It is indeed no mystery."

"The matter is settled, then," Islanzadí announced as she stepped back towards her throne, "This man has saved our ambassador and has been deemed trustworthy by Gilderien-elda. Du Weldenvarden will welcome him as a guest."

Suddenly the raven next to Islanzadí rose in a flutter of wings before flying to her shoulder, perching upon it with a noisy croak.

 _A lonely wanderer, searching for his kind,_

 _Burdens aplenty weighing on his mind._

 _Will he fall in a shower of blood and blade,_

 _Or sleep peacefully in the forest's shade?_

A shower of flowers fell over them as the queen clapped her hands, the heady fragrance doing little to draw Hashirama out of his stupor. How could this bird know enough to speak so closely to his soul? Around him the Lords stood and bowed as one as Islanzadí walked swiftly through the halls and threw the doors open, making a short proclamation that Hashirama could not understand. Immediately the elves burst into cheers and began to flit around the clearing.

"Uh...right," muttered Hashirama as Islanzadí swept away, her arm entwined with Arya's. Arya did not seem completely at ease, but she did not seem to be actively resisting her mother's efforts to converse with her. However, this left him floundering near the steps leading to the hall, having no idea what was happening. Some kind of celebration, if he had to guess by the range of emotions he was feeling.

 _Of course. They got their princess back_ he thought serenely, but that didn't make his dilemma any easier. Did he follow them, or would that be a breach of some weird protocol?

"It seems our honored guest has been left unattended," a voice spoke up from behind him, the barest traces of amusement clear in the tone. Hashirama turned to face the lord who had been sitting closest to the queen - Dathedr, if memory served him right.

"I hope this did not cause offense," Dathedr continued, smiling slightly as he walked towards him, "The queen would not be so remiss normally, but one cannot begrudge her a reunion with her daughter."

"Not at all," Hashirama grinned at the elderly lord, finding him far less threatening than some others. Or perhaps he simply hid it better. For now, however, Hashirama was more than willing to return friendliness with friendliness, "I suspect I wouldn't be so helpless if I knew the Ancient Language."

"Ah yes," Dathedr replied curiously, gesturing for them to walk together, "It is most curious. Arya- _finiarel_ spoke of you wielding powers. How could you do so when you do not know the Ancient Language?"

Hashirama easily fell into pace with him as they headed through bustling elves towards what seemed to be a small hill. The crest was bare, as if intended for large gatherings such as this one. From what he was learning of the elves, he knew it certainly wasn't because they had forcibly felled the foliage there.

"I don't know if what I use can even be called magic. At least not in the sense people here define it," he replied, scratching the stubble that had started forming on his face thoughtfully, "But you'll understand if I don't elaborate too much on the subject just yet."

"One does not learn to live through the centuries by being impatient," Dathedr replied simply, "As long as you mean us no harm, I have no interest in pressing you on the matter. My friend has vouched for you, and I have always trusted his judgement."

"Your friend? You mean Arya?" Hashirama asked curiously. Dathedr chuckled softly at the question.

"Oh no. I've outlived her father, let alone her. She is more akin a surrogate daughter to me. No, I speak of the guardian you passed by. Gilderien the Wise, as most call him."

"You're as old as him?" Hashirama asked in awe, "The aura I felt from him, I've never sensed anything like it. He did not seem to be an elf in the same way you are."

"Oh my," murmured Gilderien as they reached a row of tables, already laden with nature's bounty, though the absence of any kind of meat was conspicous. Having already seen Arya's eating habits during their travel, this did not surprise him, "You were able to sense the difference in him?"

"I felt how at one with the forest he was. Almost as if he were part of it to an extent," Hashirama admitted as an elf smilingly placed a wooden goblet in front of him. The clear liquer within it as well as the intriguing aroma it emanated intrigued him. Curiousity overwhelming him, he took a healthy gulp of the beverage.

Only years of drinking sake at festivities stopped him from gasping as the liquer burned down his throat and through his body, from his fingertips to his ears. He blinked twice as body somehow seemed to be _enhanced_ , rather than dulled by the strong drink. It tasted like nothing he'd ever drunk before, but he could - again - feel nature's power strong within it. Just how in tune with nature were these elves?

 _Stupid question, considering they live in a forest, their houses are made of living trees, and they conjure flowers at will_ he thought wryly before turning to face Dathedr.

"This drink is amazing. What do you call it?"

"Faelnirv," smiled Dathedr, sipping his own drink at a more sedate pace, "We distill it from crushed elderberries and spun moonbeams. Useful on the road, as it can replace weariness with strength."

 _I'm guessing they didn't actually spin moonbeams_ Hashirama thought wryly. Much of the topography of this land was quite different from his own, though there were many similarities as well.

"I am certainly not as old as Gilderien-elda," Dathedr returned to the previous discussion, "But I know him far better than most, having walked through this land for much longer than many of them. Not many could lay claim to be older. Over the years I have had the privilege of being able to call him my friend."

"Any concept I had of age has become redundant after seeing the elves," Hashirama mused wryly, "We measure time so differently, any philosophies we develop about it would be useless in the face of all this."

Ninja, if they somehow managed to survive their highly hazardous profession until retirement, could live much longer than the average civilian. Of course, only a handful did make it to that point in their life. Most continued to serve until old age dulled their body, causing them to perish in battle. But compared to the lifespan of the elves, even their propensity to live longer was but dust in the wind.

"It has always been so," Dathedr agreed, "Human Riders always found the idea of immortality difficult to comprehend. Many did not realize the magnitude until the ones they knew began to age before their very eyes, while the rivers of time simply seemed to pass them by."

"I can imagine how that might affect someone," Hashirama muttered, taking another gulp of the _faelnirv._ The stuff was getting addictive already, particularly because it seemed to be beneficial to the body.

Musicians had begun to play a while back, and the melody wove through the air around Hashirama, rendering him content to simply sit and listen, occasionally picking up a few berries or a slice of mushroom pie. The food was cooked well, though he couldn't help but miss the food that had predominated Konoha, once he had created it. The lack of meat didn't bother him yet; it would if he was not even allowed to hunt for his own food away from the city.

Now elves began to drift towards him as word of his deeds slowly spread through the gathering. Many were curious to see the supposed human who had dispatched of a Shade with ease. Those that could speak in his tongue conversed with him in light, lilting tones. He mingled with them easily, making it a point to be friendly but distant. Those that did not have a sufficient grasp of the human tongue settled for observing him with bright, curious eyes. The sheer vitality they emanated registered strongly on his sensory net, their life forces blazing bright, and in many cases, had been doing so for centuries.

Islanzadí was deeply engrossed in conversing with her daughter still; Bladgen the raven, on the other hand, was cocking its head to one side and staring at Hashirama in a slightly disconcerting way. Arya, as if sensing the general direction of his gaze, turned to him with a slightly haggard look in her eyes. Continuous travel, the trauma before, and now a sudden flood of intimacy from an estranged mother had clearly taken their toll on her. He shrugged helplessly at her, far be it from him to interfere with a mother-daughter reunion. He knew a losing battle when he saw one.

"Lord Dathedr," he spoke, catching the attention of the ancient lord, "Would I be rude if I wished to leave before the end of the banquet? I believe the travel has taken its toll on me."

That wasn't the truth. In all honesty, Hashirama simply wasn't used to being around so many people anymore. He had spent the last years of his life in isolation, and since awakening in Alagaesia, had been on a well-isolated farm for the most part. The constant flood of various emotions and life forces had taken their toll on him, leading him to drop his sensory net completely a while back. It was made especially tiresome by the fact that he also had to deal with various elves who wanted to interact with him.

"Not at all," Dathedr replied easily. Hashirama wondered if he'd actually convinced the old elf that he was tired. Probably not, considering he had steadily sipped away enough _faelnirv_ to turn him into a bundle of energy. But the elf lord did not question Hashirama, merely calling out to a nearby elf in the Ancient Language and speaking to her in low tones. The female elf nodded smilingly before beckoning to Hashirama to follow her.

Two pairs of bright eyes followed the human stranger as he walked away from the banquet. Two pairs of eyes that were evaluating; considering.

* * *

" _Hashi-kun?" a familiar voice called to him, making him open his eyes even as a smile came to his face. A quintessential summer afternoon greeted his eyes, though it was not often that his clan could enjoy one uninterrupted. Massive trees cast their shadows over the Senju compound, softening the hard glare of the sun. Many of the flowers were in bloom, and they basked in the sun, releasing their unique fragrances into the air._

" _Hai, Mito-chan?" he asked her in a childish voice, knowing she found that side of him endearing. Unless he did it in an important meeting. Or when she was engrossed in fuinjutsu research._

" _Tsunade-chan's been trying to challenge you for the last ten minutes," she told him in a mock stern voice, and he turned to face an adorable, blonde bundle of energy whose was heavily pouting at the moment._

" _Oh, Tsu-chan!" he exclaimed in mock surprise, holding a hand to his chest, "You should have let me know you were here! Your granddad's an old geezer now, you know. He tends to fall asleep."_

" _Baka jiji! I've been punching you for a looooooong time now!" Tsunade exclaimed, her cheeks puffing up adorably in anger._

" _Have you?" he asked, a confused look on his face, "Were you maybe taking it easy on my old bones? I didn't feel any punches...Oh, there was that time when it felt like a butterfly was sitting on my shoulder. Was that you?"_

" _I'm not a butterfly!" exclaimed Tsunade before throwing out her tiny fist in yet another punch. He held out a single finger, stopping the punch in its track immediately. This just made Tsunade go the color of a tomato._

" _I held back cuz you were lying down!" she exclaimed, flailing her hands wildly, "Get up and fight me properly!"_

 _He turned to Mito and raised his eyebrows slightly. They had long reached the point when the mere presence of the other counted as one of the best kinds of 'quality time'. She merely smiled at him before going back to the scroll she was reading. He smiled back before pushing himself up to his feet, grimacing as he realized that despite all his jokes about being old, his body_ _ **was**_ _a little stiffer than it should be._

" _Well then, Tsu-chan, is today the day you'll finally make me use two fingers?" he asked his granddaughter teasingly._

" _I'll make you use your hands AND feet! And I'll still defeat you!" Tsunade proclaimed._

" _Never thought I'd hear trash talk from my adorable little granddaughter," Hashirama muttered, and made to move towards the training hall. His walk was interrupted by a ninja, who appeared bowing before him._

" _Tobirama-sama requires your presence urgently, Hashirama-sama," the agent droned before disappearing just as abruptly as he had arrived. Hashirama sighed, running a hand through his long hair. Tobirama wouldn't disturb him today, not unless it was a matter of great significance. On the other hand, his granddaughter already had a hurt look on her face that she was trying to mask unsuccessfully._

" _He did say a delegation from the Fire Daimyo would be visiting today. No doubt they insisted on greeting the God of Shinobi in person," Mito spoke up, a mischievous gleam in her eye._

" _As if I'd meet that stuffy bunch instead of spending time with Tsu-chan!" he exclaimed loudly, lifting Tsunade onto his shoulder, making her squeal with surprise. The poorly hidden look of disappointment was now replaced by a bright, happy one._

" _I'll send a wood clone if all they want to do is exchange pleasantries," he confided in Mito as he resumed his walk towards the training hall._

" _I pity the wood clone," Mito murmured before returning to her scroll. It really was a beautiful, peaceful summer day._

* * *

The man strode down the dimly lit caverns, the blindfold that covered his eyes doing little to take away from his brisk pace. Urgals and soldiers alike fell back as he approached them, some going so far as to press against the edges of the tunnel in an effort to avoid crossing his path. He dismissed them without a second thought. As he walked deeper into the network of roughly-hewn passages, a scream of pain echoed some distance away, making him frown with displeasure.

Now he drew close to the sound of digging as urgals dug into the hard stone at a frenzied pace. They were excavating what appeared to a ebony-colored stone chamber, every inch of it covered with runic engravings. He hissed as he heard one pickaxe strike too close to the stone chamber for comfort. The urgal in question froze in fear, before bending down to pick up the tool with slightly trembling hands.

"What happened?" he asked in a rasping tone, his long grey hair gleaming strangely in the torchlight. A magician stepped towards him, trembling even as one of his fellows writhed on the ground, now screaming in soundless agony as the flesh on his hands fell away with a sickening sound, revealing the bone underneath.

He flicked a hand towards the agonized magicians with an annoyed sound, stopping the flesh from breaking away further. As much as he hated incompetence, the Empire did not possess enough magicians to throw them away too carelessly, as one might an urgal or ordinary soldier. His lip curled at the thought of how difficult it would be to replace this worthless magician here in the middle of the Hadarac.

"Did I not give," he began softly, "The most explicit of instructions on how to study the chamber?"

"Y-Yes, milord, b-bu-"

"And was it not to prevent something exactly like this," he gestured at the now sobbing magician on the floor, "That I procured some desert savages to test the waters before you proceeded?"

Now the magician was silent, bowing so low he wondered for a moment if the man's spine would be able to bend further. Resisting the urge to find out, he turned instead to look down at the magician, unerringly discerning where he was despite the blindfold over his eyes.

"It annoys me," he spoke softly, one leg kneeling down to allow him to study the fallen magician better, "That this work, which the King bade us complete in all haste, must now proceed at a slower pace because of your incompetence. You believe what you feel now is pain? Relish this moment, for you will soon remember this pain as the sweetest of pleasures."

He stood, and very calmly, stepped on the bones protruding from the stump that had once led to the man's palm. The screams continued to be soundless, and he realized magic had been cast to keep the screams silent. He turned to face the man's compatriot, whose face had now gone a sickly green.

"You cast the spell to keep him silent?"

"Y-Yes, m-milord. I-I didn't want the screams t-to cause you annoyance."

A slight smile crossed his lips. These new magicians were capable of learning something after all, it would seem. A pity the last few had disappointed him so badly. The King had been displeased, but he had been _disappointed._ He did not like to be disappointed.

"I expect work to resume as soon as possible. Is that understood? Deaden his nerves and make him work. For his stupidity, one hand should more than suffice."

Then he left, to once more supervise the study over pages and pages of runes that had been copied down from the already exposed parts of the stone chamber. The power - even on the outer edges of the chamber - was tangible enough to make him go weak at the knees. Even the King himself had been unable to open the chamber using force. That had left them with no alternative but to study the chamber and decrypt its secrets.

A civilization that preceded even the Grey Folk. This was the only evidence that they had even existed. But if the Grey Folk had been powerful enough to almost level a continent...he shivered at the thought of what secrets this chamber contained. If only all resources could be devoted to studying the chamber...he snarled in rage at the thought of those annoying Varden pests. If only they were destroyed, he would have greater resources at his disposal.

If that fool Durza failed in his mission, the consequences would be severe. He would see to it personally if he had to.

After all, few humans could claim to be older than the Mad King.

* * *

The golden beast snarled as he edged slowly towards the steep precipice behind him. He raised his hands in a calming gesture, though going by experience, no human or animal ever trusted the universal sign that he meant no harm. Why was it even a sign if no one believed it?

 _Focus, you idiot_ he told himself strictly.

He had awoken even as dawn began. For the first time since entering Ellesmera, he had spread out his sensory net fully for the first time since entering the elven city. The previous day had rather overwhelmed him with the sheer presence of elven and forest life signatures, and some that seemed to be an odd mixture of elf and animal. For someone who had spent his last years as a hermit, the sudden influx of information had been a little unnerving.

Three life signatures had stood out immediately. One dwarfed any and every life signature he had come across so far. It appeared to be a tree of some sort, old even by the elven measure of time. It had been oddly intelligent, but one another life signature had been even stranger. It had been bestial, fierce yet intelligent in a way he had never come across before. Magic seemed to thrum in its very lifeblood even to his sensory net, and he found himself marvelling at this life form that was - quite literally - magical.

It was rather hard to marvel with equal sincerity when said creature was now eyeing him like he would be a scrumptuous bowl of ramen. He had noticed, with a feeling of sadness, that the beast's majesty was somewhat diminished by a stump where its leg once stood, forcing it to hobble somewhat as it tried to move towards him.

 _A real, living dragon._

He had always been fascinated with dragons. It was why his ability to create wooden dragons had been one of his signature moves. With them, he had been able to restrain even the Bijuu. But he wanted to avoid hurting this dragon if possible. Not only did it seem wrong to subdue something that was already crippled, this dragon lived in too close a proximity to Ellesmera for the elves to be unaware of it. The modest-looking hut some distance away from both of them suggested that at least one elf lived with the dragon.

 _A dragon rider._

Arya had told him of the legends of course, when he had asked her what it was that she had teleported away. While she had not exactly waxed eloquent on the subject, he had managed to glean the essentials of the now-extinct Order. Galbatorix was one of them, but this dragon she had not mentioned at all.

"The person concealing yourself...some help would be much appreciated right about now!" he called, knowing by the life signature that the rider stood close by.

"So you could sense me...and yet Dathedr led me to believe you were incapable of the mind arts. A curious turn of affairs," he heard a voice, and a silver-haired elf shimmered into view before him. Hashirama couldn't help but be impressed. Granted, he was distracted by giant, magical being snarling at him, but whatever ability had enabled that kind of camouflaging was truly impressive.

"You know of me." It was more a statement than a question. Clearly Dathedr was a person of much greater importance than he had thought, and yet he had played host to a virtual unknown like him. He felt his respect for the aged elf increase substantially.

"Certainly. Elven life tends to proceed at a very tranquil pace. When a stranger arrives at Ellesmera after killing a Shade and rescuing our Ambassador, even a hermit such as myself hears of it," the elf responded pleasantly enough, though there was a hint of steel in his eyes, "I doubt, however, that you were informed of my existence. Nor could you have stumbled upon my abode accidentally, as these crags cannot be climbed on foot. How, then, do I find myself with an unexpected visitor?"

 _Well, when he puts it that way…_

"He was right when he said I lack proficiency in the mind arts beyond keeping out unwelcome intrusions," he spoke calmly, "I'm certain he also mentioned that I have certain other...abilities, which is why I was able to defeat the Shade."

"Indeed," the elf spoke agreeably, "He was also saddened that he wasn't able to get the chance to research your abilities, as you apparently value your privacy greatly."

Well. Perhaps the old lord's motives for hosting him had not been so selfless after all.

"One of those abilities allows me to sense life energy. Today morning, while I was meditating, there were two life signatures that stood out strongly. One I have not explored yet, but it seems to be an extremely old tree. Far older than anything I've sensed before."

"The Menoa tree," the elf nodded, "And the other?"

"I now know it was a dragon," Hashirama responded wryly, "I sensed an old life force, but one so connected to magical energy that I was able to sense a vibrant presence. It intrigued me enough that I wanted to investigate."

"Am I to understand that these mysterious abilities of yours allowed you to surmount the crags as well?" the elf asked him wryly.

"Of course," Hashirama replied equally wryly, walking to a nearby tree even as the golden dragon growled slightly. Without breaking stride, he began to walk up the tree, exhibiting one of the most basic chakra exercises. The elf's eyes widened in surprise however, and even the dragon let out a surprised snort. Surprise sounded odd when coming from a dragon. At least he knew he had been correct about it possessing intelligence on par with any human or elf, "The top of the crags were simply a rather long, slightly bumpy walk in my case."

He was downplaying it enough without having to mention that the cliff had also not cost him more than a few seconds to climb.

"Well then, Glaedr, it would appear our guest has no overtly malicious intentions," the elf told the dragon, which did not even blink as it continued to survey him fiercely, "I imagine introductions are in order. I am Oromis, rider and lifelong friend of Glaedr, whom you have already met. These are the titles I am most proud to bear of my own volition."

"And I am Hashirama Senju. Wanderer or vagabond, depending on the kindness of the eyes viewing me," he replied cheerfully. It was refreshing when absolutely no one knew of him as the Shodai Hokage. Oromis inclined his head courteously in return.

"I must let Islanzadí know of this. Accidental or not, I doubt she would be pleased to see one of our closest secrets revealed so easily," the elf said before his eyes grew distant, as if his mind was elsewhere. Technically, it _was_ indeed reaching out somewhere.

"I seem to have this penchant for always finding trouble," he confided in the dragon - Glaedr - who now snorted again, though the sound of it was now marginally less hostile, "When I met Arya and killed that shade Durza, I was just taking a walk around the farm I was staying in."

Now the dragon levelled a disbelieving look at him.

"I know, I know," Hashirama nodded, "Hard to believe, but it's the truth. Funnily enough, the same thing applies this time as well. When I decided to investigate your life signature, all I was looking for was a morning walk to freshen up."

The dragon snorted in amusement, releasing a plume of smoke from its snout.

"Maybe I should just stop taking walks," Hashirama continued in a mock dramatic tone, finding the dragon's amusement in turn amusing himself, "And confine myself to my chambers, reading manuscripts and getting all my food brought to the door...Wait, that actually doesn't sound too bad."

Suddenly, the amulet that protected his mind from intrusion began to heat up, causing him to tense in anticipation as his chakra began to drain. Who could be trying to invade his mind here?

"Glaedr wishes to tell you that he cannot respond to you unless you lower your mental shields," Oromis' voice drifted to him, making him freeze in disbelief.

"Glaedr can communicate?" he asked, unable to keep a faint note of skepticism from entering his voice. Forget the raven, _this_ was the closest he had found to a summon clan animal so far.

"Of course," Oromis replied, "Not verbally, of course, but he is more than capable of communing with others through his mind. With you, however, he could not even gain cursory access."

"Ah, yes, I wasn't lying when I said I have no proficiency in the mind arts. I created this," and here Hashirama held up the amulet, "To guard my mind against any and all mental incursions. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find a way to exercise conscious control over who is allowed and when."

"Remarkable," Oromis murmured, eyeing his amulet as if he would dearly love to solve the mystery. He was suddenly struck that Dathedr might not be alone in his scientific curiosity. Perhaps it was something about elven age. Beyond a certain point, any mystery would come as a welcome challenge.

 _Which is just another way of calling them old geezers_ Hashirama snorted internally. Until recently, he'd been the one who was _getting_ called an old geezer. It was unexpectedly nice that the tables were now turned.

 _Of course, they'll probably still be alive and kicking by the time the Shinigami comes for you. Again_ snickered the voice in his mind.

"What did the queen say?" he asked Oromis in a bid to ignore that internal voice.

"She is most displeased. However, once I explained the circumstances, I do not believe the anger is directed towards you. This does place her in a precarious position, however. None outside Ellesmera's borders know of mine and Glaedr's existence. You cannot be counted as an ally either."

"Therefore, how can my silence be ensured?" Hashirama finished his sentence for him. Tobirama would have reacted the same way. He had always been inclined to go on faith, but he doubted that part of him held any real sway after Madara's final betrayal.

"Quite so. Fortunately, a simple solution presents itself. Any oath given in the Ancient Language is binding, and cannot be broken. By swearing an oath to keep this secret, I believe the problem can be resolved."

Hashirama felt an intense discomfort overtake him.

"Ah...save for the fact that I know nothing of this Ancient Language beyond the phrases Arya taught me to use in greetings."

"We seem to have bypassed the usual formalities, so I do not believe those phrases will help you with me," Oromis said, smiling slightly.

 _Huh. Maybe age also gives them a better sense of humor._

"Nevertheless, as long as you are tutored in the correct words and pronounciation, making the oath should pose no challenge."

Hashirama scratched the back of his head uncomfortably.

"If this language is as binding as you make it out to be, I cannot simply accept the phrases I'm tutored in. You have all been nothing but kind to me, however, I do not believe this is a matter where I can afford to give trust so easily."

What was it about uncomfortable situations that inevitably turned him formal?

At this Oromis frowned, but a thoughtful look soon occupied his face.

"I cannot deny the truth in what you have said. Perhaps you are right to be cautious, though I am afraid this will complicate matters with the queen. I suppose we cannot swear an oath to only teach you the correct phrases either, as that would first involve teaching you what those phrases mean. It would become a vicious cycle," Oromis added wryly. Hashirama now wore a sheepish look.

"I really am sorry to cause so much trouble for everyone."

Oromis simply smiled at him, no hint of recrimination in his eyes.

"I do not believe such a situation can be blamed on any individual. Sometimes things happen that are beyond our control. Perhaps our meeting with the queen will see another offer a solution we cannot think of at present."

Glaedr rose to his feet and spread his wings, even as Oromis nimbly climbed onto the dragon's back, before turning to look at Hashirama.

"Glaedr will take us to Tialdari Hall. Islanzadí wishes to meet with us immediately."

"Will the entire court be there?" he asked, hoping he had managed to keep hope out of his voice. To his surprise, Oromis laughed slightly in response, his voice turning musical as every elf's voice seemed to do.

"The elven court can be intimidating even to those more...experienced in political intrigue. No, this will be a private audience with the queen, and perhaps her most trusted advisors."

Hashirama was too relieved by the answer to try and protest the fact that Oromis considered him inexperienced in politics. He settled for leaping nimbly from where he stood to alight directly behind where Oromis sat on Glaedr. He could feel surprise emanating from both of them, but at the moment, he was too busy feeling a thrill of his own.

He could probably move faster, especially with the aid of shunshins.

He had already experienced something close, with his wooden constructs moving him about a battlefield with ease while he maintained Sage Mode in battle.

But none of that mattered at the moment.

He was riding a real, living, breathing (fire) dragon dammit!

How often did that happen?

* * *

 **Once again, sorry about the delay. And I'm sorry if the ending seemed a little forced, but I didn't want to overshoot too much, and this seemed like as good a time as any to close the curtains for now.**

 **It might not be immediately apparent, but Hashirama is being drawn from his self-imposed reticence simply by sight after sight that fills him with a sense of wonder. To a battle-hardened man whose heart was closed by cynicism, to simply feel a sense of child-like wonder again merits a small change in his character at this point.**

 **He is not back to his old self. He is not going to bounce around in every chapter. In fact, I'd say he's still 90% the same as he was in the prologue.**

 **Reviews are fuel. Fill the tank and hear it roar :P**

 **Till next time.**


	4. Chapter 3

**This update is pretty late because for the last two months, I've been writing my Masters dissertation. I do apologize for the lateness, but this writing is meant to serve as a form of productive relaxation for me. When I was already spending hours writing something and looking at a screen, I could no longer find it relaxing. Now that the submission is done, I can find this relaxing once more.**

 **I hope you enjoy the latest chapter!**

* * *

"Captain, the beasts say this is where the confrontation happened."

Captain Darius, part of King Galbatorix's elite army, suppressed the weary sigh that came to his lips and looked at the soldier, wondering why all of his men were incapable of exercising the ability to think. The derogatory reference to the Urgals, who were pacing the edge of the trail nervously, was perhaps the biggest use of his mind in recent days.

"The bones and scorch marks make that abundantly clear, whoreson. What are you still waiting around for? Get the trackers and magician to work!"

The Corporal's face reddened slightly, and he looked to the ground guiltily before blundering off in a hurry. Darius sighed again. He missed his former second in command. Oh, that man had been an idiot at the start too. But he had taken the time to teach the man. To groom him. And then he had been promoted, leaving Darius once again amongst a herd of donkeys.

"Captain," a smooth voice prompted him to look to the other side, only to see the magician Galbatorix had sent with his soldiers to survey the area where the feared Shade had been taken out of commission.. All he knew was that the magician, while perhaps the one intelligent person in the vicinity apart from him, was also one of the most repellant individuals he had come across. Ungar was the name he had given, though even that was a matter of trust. Magicians serving the king were given great liberty in the military structure, when compared to normal humans at least.

"It would be conducive to my work if you prevented your inept men from trampling over the area," Ungar said, his voice practically dripping grease. Darius grimaced, looking at his men, half of whom were already discussing the rations for the evening meal in low tones. He drew faith in the fact that the trackers, at least, seemed to be making progress with their work.

"You lot! Stop standing about and find a place to set up camp! I want everything ready by sunset," he shouted at his men, and they jumped with fright before hurrying to do as he said.

"If your voice is enough to frighten them so, I wonder how they are meant to chivalrously defend our fine empire," the magician commented snidely. Darius wished he could refute the accusation, but in point of fact, he could not help but agree. As the fight against the Varden continued to drag on, he was simply used instead of a military trainer to whip the soldiers into reasonable shape before they would be called away to bolster the fighting force. In other words, he was condemned to working with men who looked and acted as if they had just left their mother's teats.

"Work, magician," he growled in lieu of a better response, "We are ill suited to staying here for long. Do what you must, and let us report to Lord Tábor with haste."

With a final sneer, the magician walked towards the center of the clearing, standing between two scorch marks that were clearly the result of fire spells. While one of the areas of impact were small, the other had utterly scorched the earth. It was wrong, seeing the ground so utterly lifeless. The magician stood near the center of the clearing and closed his eyes, muttering steadily as he did so.

A trickle of cold went down his spine. While the magician had yet to speak, the outcome of the battle - with _Lord_ Durza incapacitated - suggested that whoever attacked him was responsible for the second scorch mark.

Such a powerful individual would be a prime threat to the peace that the Empire had been building. Even more so if this individual belonged to the Varden. If anything, he knew that they would do their best to recruit the attacker.

They would win in the end, of course. No one could stand against the might of The Black King for long. The Varden were suffered as a nuisance, and for that he was grateful. If they became enough of an annoyance to be taken seriously, then even more farmers would be ripped from their livelihood. Sons would be torn away from their mothers, and many homes would be shattered, perhaps forever.

His fist clenched, even as burning anger filled him for what the Varden was doing. _They_ were the reason there was so much misery in Alagaesia. They deserved to _burn_.

"I believe I have what is required," Ungar spoke up, distracting him from his thoughts. Curiosity overwhelmed his dislike for the magician.

"So quickly? It looked merely as if you were looking to a deity for supplication. Is that perhaps what you were sent here for? To pray for our success?" he asked, his face the very picture of sincere interest.

"Magic leaves traces in its vicinity. Just as your barely competent trackers blunder around in their attempts to decipher the physical signs of battle, I can use the traces of magic to gain more information that may be of use to the king," Ungar responded, not even acknowledging what Darius had said.

"And what have you learned?"

"I have been instructed to inform only Lord Tábor and the King himself. It would seem, _Captain_ , that you were not seen to be trustworthy enough," the magician responded, the glee of revenge ever-so-subtly present in his voice.

Darius merely grunted, before turning to assess the progress his trackers were making. The battle had left many tracks to decipher, and dusk was fast approaching. They would need to make camp and resume their work the following day.

"Dilcos!" he called out, and a middle-aged man ran over to him. While Dilcos was only recently conscripted into the army, and thus was considered green around the gills, he had been a hunter before that, which made him the most qualified out of the trackers at his disposal.

"Captain?" the man asked deferentially, continuing to exhibit his talent for speaking no more than absolutely necessary. Darius felt a wave of affection rush through him for the silent tracker.

"Dusk is almost upon us. Can you continue your work tomorrow?"

"Yes, Captain. Any perishable evidence has long since disappeared. What remains now will remain for awhile yet."

"Then take the other trackers and see if you can find a nearby farm. Here," Darius threw a coin purse at the man, "Get us enough supplies, and make arrangements with them in case we need more."

His eyes hardened as he watched Dilcos walk away. He would find any evidence about Durza's attacker, with or without the magician's help. And when he did, he would exact justice upon the culprit, and Alagaesia would become a far more peaceful place. With the death of the Varden, which was fast approaching, absolute peace would reign.

He would not have to see his men die anymore.

* * *

"Do you speak the truth?" Islanzadí asked him, her power flaring wildly to his senses, even as she radiated agitation, distrust and hope. He had never seen the queen look so authoritative. He now understood, why even the more ambitious elven lords followed her as their ruler. She had the bearing and charisma of a leader, as well as the strength of one.

He simply nodded calmly, knowing what he said might be difficult for anyone in Alagaesia to believe. His reputation as a healer had seen people travelling to Konoha from all over the Elemental Nations. Those that hadn't been told stories of how he was a ruthless monster, of course, or were simply too desperate to care.

"The most skilled of elven healers have been unable to cure what ails me," Oromis spoke quietly, but the elf practically radiated sadness. Sadness not only for his plight, but for what his dragon had suffered. But he had come to terms with it, for there was also acceptance. Now he sensed disbelief and a deep pain.

 _I will heal them. If nothing else, they are respected and admired by almost every elf I have come across_ he resolved silently. What he did not add was that they had made a good impression on him as well. For all the complaints his brother and friends had about his nature to trust almost everyone, the truth was that his judgment of people often proved to be true. He knew that there was a larger struggle afoot, Arya and Siegfried had let enough slip that he had a rough idea of the tension that encompassed the land.

He could not bring himself to care. He had fought his battles. The people of this land could fight theirs.

"I mean no disrespect to your healers, but I will say that I possess an entirely different set of capabilities," he answered, "As I demonstrated to your guardian before I was allowed to enter Ellesmera."

"How may we be certain that you do not wish to harm them in the guise of helping them? You have made it very clear that you will not pledge anything in the Ancient tongue until you have learned it yourself," asked Islanzadí.

 _Because I certainly would not have needed an excuse if I wanted to assassinate the old geezer_ he thought, but bit his lip to prevent himself from saying it out loud. It was rather amusing in a way. Ninja were always perceived with suspicion, underhanded tactics expected of them. But never from him personally. In his later years, he had battled as a powerhouse, drawing the enemy to him like flies while his own shinobi used the distraction to their advantage.

"If I wanted to harm your nation or your cause, why would I have stopped the assault on your daughter?" he asked, "I do not know what it is that she was ferrying, but I do know that it was important enough for a powerful adversary to be sent after it. I have had many chances to harm her, and yet I did not. Besides, Oromis-elda told me that his existence is a closely guarded secret. Does the enemy even know that he is alive?"

"He makes a compelling case," Oromis admitted, the wry expression on his face indicating that he had caught the use of the honorific as a subtle form of flattery.

"Perhaps for his lack of malignant intentions. That still leaves the question of competency, however," Islanzadí refuted firmly.

"Perhaps a test is will convince you," Hashirama offered, facing Oromis directly, "Glaedr's injury, while it appears to be far more severe, is the more simple one to heal. You may call your healers and anyone else you wish to be present and observe the process. As it is the less dangerous one, you may also be certain of staunching and reversing any damage, though I highly doubt that will be required."

The silence that followed was tense, at least for the two elves gathered in the alcove with him. Oromis once again had a slightly distant look on his face, no doubt speaking with Glaedr, who had been forced to wait outside. The dragon's gargantuan size had been highlighted by the slender constructions that dotted Ellesmera.

"What say you, Islanzadí-Dröttning?" Oromis asked finally.

"It is more than we had ever hoped for, to see you free of what ails you," Islanzadí whispered, "And yet, what if it fails? We cannot lose your guidance yet, Oromis-elda, Glaedr-elda."

"We made peace with our lot, because our healers could not succeed. We resigned ourselves to training the rider of the blue egg. But now, we have a chance to do more. To atone for our mistakes. It was our hubris, after all, that allowed a madman to go unchecked for so long."

"You have always been too quick to take blame for this, masters," Islanzadí protested, as if revisiting a frequent topic of contention, "The Riders allowed all of Alagaesia to grow and prosper. You could not have predicted what one apprentice would have become. Nor were you his teacher, and thus responsible for his actions."

Oromis shook his head, smiling sadly, "My comrades are dead. Their sins are mine to bear and atone for. I sat on the Council when Galbatorix was denied another egg. I did not recognize the madness in his eyes. I wish to set things right."

"Then you wish to attempt this?" Islanzadí asked quietly.

"Yes," Oromis inclined his head, "With your permission, Glaedr is willing to gamble on Hashirama's skills. He has already proved to have some unorthodox abilities. Perhaps he just might succeed, and we will have our second chance."

Hashirama could feel an animalistic resolve even where he stood. Glaedr truly was ready. Oromis' eyes burned with a similar fire, though his voice had remained serene till the very end. Their resolve was frighteningly strong. He smiled wistfully. Once, he too had been capable of such resolve. If he had not chosen to give up, could he have stayed strong for decades, as these two had?

 _No. That time is over. My resolve was foolish_ he dismissed, returning to the task at hand.

"I will not stop you, master," Islanzadí finally spoke, her head bowed slightly, "You have sacrificed everything for the nation. If you wish to do this, every single elf will support you. I say this with certainty."

"I believe you exaggerate, but it is a heartening thought all the same," Oromis replied, smiling slightly.

"I will assemble the healers by sunbreak," Islanzadí continued, glancing at him. He merely nodded. Sleep was hardly a pressing factor, he would be ready whenever needed. A loud growl signified that Glaedr too was amenable, perhaps even eagerly so.

"What will you do until then, Hashirama-finiarel?" Oromis asked curiously. Hashirama shrugged, there was only one other thing he particularly wanted to explore in the city.

"I thought I would investigate the other signature that caught my attention. The enormous tree I caught sight of while Glaedr flew us both here," he said.

"The Menoa Tree," Islanzadí responded, studying him with a glint of curiousity, "Your sensory ability is intriguing, all the more so given your inability to wield your mind the way we do."

"If everyone had the same set of abilities, the world would be a very boring place," he responded truthfully, smiling openly now.

"Perhaps. I will have my daughter escort you. You understand why it is necessary," she stated.

He simply nodded. It did not make much of a difference to him, and certainly saved him the trouble of trying to communicate with an elf who did not speak his language.

"Then I shall see you at dawnbreak," she decided, the dismissal clear in her voice as she turned to face Oromis, no doubt intending to refine their plan. He merely stood there for a few seconds, fighting the urge to pout while waiting for an elven attendant to show him out.

He couldn't remember a time when he had been dismissed so casually, dammit!

* * *

"A most intriguing man," Oromis said as the he watched Hashirama leave the room. Glaedr was equally confused, not knowing what to make of the man who defied centuries of knowledge they had acquired.

Islanzadí's lips thinned slightly, heightening the severe look on her face.

"If there is one thing the Elven court does not require in further measure it is intrigue, Oromis-elda," she replied carefully.

Oromis laughed slightly, walking to the nearby table and pouring _faelnirv_ into two goblets. He handed one to the queen and raised the other close to his face, savoring the delicate spices that wafted from the concoction.

"Those who intrigue from the shadows are a different breed of people. I speak of someone who is intriguing in himself. He was able to surprise me and Glaedr. He was able to surprise Gilderien-elda himself. The intrigue that follows him will be a cool breeze in this aged forest."

"Or a violent wind that will uproot many things in its path," Islanzadí countered, "I requested Gilderien-elda to speak further on why he allowed Hashirama-finiarel passage. He was unusually reticent on the matter, however, even he was surprised by the human."

"One thing Riders and Elves often come to admire in humans is the frequent gusts of wind that roar through their civilization. They never stop. They never rest. Their lives are lived in fear that in the blink of an eye, their time will come to an end. Much ugliness festers in their society because of this. But they do not stagnate. It is a marvelous thing, that urgency. We have been stale, Islanzadí. Since the defeat of my dear friend Evander," and here the queen's shoulder tensed at the mention of her former husband, "we have secluded ourselves, and allowed dust to gather over Elven society, have we not?"

Islanzadí heaved a sigh before sipping delicately from her goblet.

"Perhaps, but for now, we have another concern to deal with."

"The egg," Oromis nodded, "The spell was highly unstable, as there was not enough time for adequate preparation. I am certain it must have reached the vicinity of Brom-elda, but beyond that, we cannot determine the fate of the egg for certain."

"This egg is the one hope of the entire land - Our only chance to match the Mad King. We cannot simply hope for the best."

"We only know that Brom planned to travel to the region that the humans call the Spine. He had protected himself against scrying and other forms of magical contact. We have no way of informing him of these recent events," Oromis spoke thoughtfully.

Islanzadí's hands clenched the goblet with enough force to make the wood creak. A hazy nimbus of power began to surround her. Oromis seemingly took no notice of this, and continued to speak.

"Our only course of action is to look into the matter personally. We must send someone to the Spine and search for Brom and the egg. Nothing less will suffice, not when there is so much at stake. Once the egg and Brom are found, they must be protected."

"Gilderien-elda," Islanzadí whispered, the pain clear in her eyes.

"Forgive me. When your daughter chose to accept the _yawe_ and become the ambassador, she became our conduit to the rest of Alagaesia. She knows the roads better than most, and she will be able to sense the egg better than most, having guarded it for so long. It is her duty, and you know she will take it upon herself to do it," Oromis said, laying a hand gently on her forearm.

"My daughter has just returned to me. I- I must make amends for the pain I caused her. The suffering that must have followed in the long years she spent away from her home. Away from me."

A single tear ran down the queen's face, a blemish that thousands would have died to prevent.

Oromis gently took the goblet and placed it aside, faelnirv leaking through the cracks in the goblet, a testament of the powerful emotions within the queen. Compassion and sadness radiated from him as he stood by the table, his shoulders slightly hunched as a testament to the burden he bore; the oath he and Glaedr had taken that fateful day.

"She will forever be of the forest. No matter where her honor and duty may take her, her soul belongs to the leaves and roots of Ellesmera. She can no more cast them aside than her soul. We will persevere, I believe, and no more will our forest be a hiding place, but one of joy and laughter and free comings and goings. Thus it was once, and I truly believe it will be so once more," Oromis said, his voice just a little distant, as if he were describing a waking dream.

"Yes," Islanzadí smiled weakly, but drew herself up to her full stature once more, "We must inform our allies of what has transpired. Their information network will be vital in order to gain information on Brom and help with safe passage through Alagaesia."

"He also asked to teach the new dragon rider at the beginning," Oromis smiled as Islanzadí began to walk towards the nearby mirror, no doubt to communicate with Varden magicians, "I will wait and hope that when my time comes, Glaedr and I will be able to instruct the new rider without our...impediments."

* * *

"Are you perhaps tending to the crops with the power of your mind, dear daughter?"

Leola's cheeks blushed crimson with embarrassment at her mother's gentle rebuke, and she immediately began to resume working. Her mother walked back towards the livestock, satisfied that the work would be resumed.

 _I blame him entirely_ she huffed as the red in her cheeks refused to fade away. In recent weeks, she had rather alarmingly picked up on her father's habit of staring into space, work forgotten in favor of some distant thoughts. Of course, while she was still quite clueless as to what occupied her father's thoughts, her parents had easily discerned the only thought on her mind.

Hashirama.

Her parents were the only people she interacted with on a regular basis, living as she did in the middle of nowhere. Oh, there would be farmhands looking for temporary work, an occasional merchant, an occasional neighbor seeking to borrow something - but they were not significant interactions by any means. Hashirama, on the other hand, had been a matter of curiosity at the beginning. The sheer exoticism surrounding him had made him by far the most interesting person she had encountered.

That was only the beginning, however. It quickly became apparent to her that he was similar to her father in many ways. Both carried themselves with a certain dignity, and also held a deep sadness within them. After his revelations about his past life, he had once confided in her that she reminded him greatly of his granddaughter.

A grandfather.

She had liked that idea very much indeed. Her parents rarely mentioned her grandparents, save to tell her that they had passed away. A frown of discontentment marred her face for a second, before she willed it away. The reticence of her parents on certain issues was something she had made peace with.

 _I must remember to tend to Millie_ she reminded herself, and yet again she remembered how Hashirama had taught her to make the best use of the herbs. Was that not what a grandfather would have done?

When he visited again - and he had promised her that he would - she would call him 'grandfather' once, simply to see how it felt. Then she would kick him in the leg for taking so long.

Satisfied with her plan of action, Leola was about to return to the field when she heard it - A steady drum roll of sound that seemed to grow by the second, turning into a thunderous clap of what she recognized as hoofs striking the hard earth. She stood now, wary of who it could be. One heard tales of bandits prowling the traveller routes, but they tended not to bother the farms, as that was where they got their supplies. City traders did not exactly make a point of selling to the people who often robbed their supply lines. She unearthed the small knife that she always kept around her waist, tied in a pouch. The knife was a slender thing, more useful for cutting away the herbs she needed than for any form of violence.

Three men were now visible on the trail, the gleaming armor leaving her in no doubt about who they were. Fear gripped her heart even as she reminded herself of what her father had told her. There was simply no evidence that Hashirama had stayed with him. If anyone asked, they had not seen or heard anything. Their biggest concern was ensuring their crop grew well. And that was all they would tell anyone who asked.

They slowed as they drew close to her, and the man in front, clearly the one in charge among the three of them, coaxed his horse to a halt before looking down at her.

"Do your parents own this farm lass?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Yes," she replied, sounding as hesitant as anyone would when talking to a stranger, "They are tending to the animals near the house."

"Do not fear, we are His Majesty's soldiers. My name is Dilcos. Show me to your parents, I have matters to discuss with them," the soldier, Dilcos, told her. She nodded dumbly, walking towards the house at a brisk pace to keep up with the horses.

"Father!" She called out as she neared the house, and her father walked out of the animal shed, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyes were guarded as he surveyed the soldiers, and he gestured briefly to her, asking her to move away. She went into the barn to inform her mother of what had transpired. Her father's sword hung there on a nail, and she would need to bring it to him if the need arose.

Even as she heard her father and the soldier begin bartering about supplies and a place to camp - they did not explicitly suspect her family at the very least - she somehow knew that luck would not favor them.

It rarely did.

* * *

"Beautiful," Hashirama breathed, a hitch in his breath as he allowed the pure, potent nature chakra wash over him. This was beyond anything he had ever experienced. The feel of nature chakra had been especially potent in Du Weldenvarden, but this? This put even that potency to shame. The energy around the Menoa tree seemed to tremble in delight at his presence, enveloping him in a warm blanket that left him invigorated and shivering at the sheer purity of it all.

"Indeed. The Menoa Tree is utterly tied to our culture now," Arya agreed, tracing her slender fingers along a section of the massive tree's bark, "Elves do not believe in worship, but I believe many do revere the Menoa tree. Her story is a heartbreaking one, but in becoming one with the forest, she found her strength. Now she watches over us all."

"Will you tell me her story?" He asked Arya curiously, sitting on one of the gargantuan roots that eventually burrowed deep into the ground. This was so close to what he had accomplished with Sage mode. In balancing nature energy within his body, he became one with the forest around him. Every tree, every plant, every part of nature became an extension of him. This awareness had allowed him to become a feared sensor, capable of detecting anyone in quite a long radius of distance. In nature's realm, every tree, every shrub, every sapling allowed him to spread his awareness further and further.

"Linnea was an elderly elf maiden who had spent her entire life in communion with nature," Arya began, joining him where he sat, "Through her childhood and youth, she sang to them, nurtured them, and delighted in their presence. She was content to live out her life in this manner, and never felt compelled to seek out a mate. Then a young man crossed her path, and she fell in love with him. For a time, he loved her too."

Here Arya's face distorted into an unpleasant scowl, as if the thought of what followed next disgusted her.

"But then the young man began to desire for a mate closer to his own age. So he found a young elf maiden, and for a time, they too were happy together."

 _I almost certainly know how this story ends_ Hashirama thought dryly.

"Then one day, Linnea discovered the betrayal she had suffered. She found her mate with the younger elf, and killed them both. Overcome by grief and guilt, she went to the oldest tree in the forest and embraced it. For three days and three nights she continued to sing, pour her very being into the tree. When the sun rose on the fourth dawn, neither she nor the tree were the same again. Two beings melded into one. Where her elven mate betrayed her, the forest she loved with all her heart accepted her. Since then, she has always watched over the elves."

Hashirama remained silent, not quite knowing what to say to the story. Infidelity had hardly been an uncommon occurrence in the Elemental Nations. Nobles in particular were all too willing to place a contract on a cheating partner. He had ended that habit quickly, though not out of any delusions. Despite his ideals for peace, at that point, ninjas were simply blades for hire. If his dream had ever come about, he wanted the ninja force to be something more beautiful - Protectors. Guardians. People who fought for something higher than their next paycheck.

"What does it feel like? To commune with the mind of an entity like the Menoa tree?" He asked eventually.

"Vast. Despite my best efforts, I have never been able to grasp the full presence of the tree's mind. It is as encompassing as the forest itself. Some elves almost lost their minds when they tried to immerse themselves too deeply in the tree's mind."

Arya suddenly turned to face him, a troubled look in her eyes.

"Are you truly capable of healing the masters, Hashirama?"she asked. Her reverence for them was clear to behold.

"Yes," he replied simply, "I thought you would have known this of me now. I do not make idle claims."

He did not expect Arya to smile, a trace of bitterness clear in her features as she shook her head gently.

"You are wrong. I know almost nothing of you, because you have deigned to share nothing with us. I do not even know if you are truly human. The only things I can claim with certainty is that your powers puzzle even the elven elders, and your eyes sometimes take on a sadness than ever Oromis-elda would be surprised by," Arya told him.

He scratched the back of his head embarrassedly, knowing that he had indeed kept everyone at an arm's length, sharing almost nothing of himself. This was in part because he wanted nothing more than to remove himself from the war that plagued this land. The more he revealed of himself, the more he would be pressured to take on a significant role.

 _And yet, I am engaging with the world once more_ he admitted defeat with a resigned sigh before turning to face Arya. Despite everything, he saw in this new land the potential for adventure at least. A haven of peace such as Ellesmera - Konoha had never seen this, as even during the best of times, he and Madara had repelled attacks on their territory.

"Very well, a trade then," he said, a trace of his old cheer in his voice, "I cannot promise an answer to every question you ask, but for today, I will answer three things you ask of me. And you must answer three questions of mine. You too may choose not to answer a question, and ask for another. What say you?"

Arya's lips curved up in a faint, almost indiscernible smile.

"So be it. For my first question: How old are you?"

 _Talk about starting on a strong note_ he thought wryly.

"I've been alive for a little over a hundred years, I suppose. I never made it a point to track my day of birth, so I do not know my exact age for certain," he answered carefully, leaving out the part where he had apparently spent more than a few thousand years in the Shinigami's belly.

Ary's eyes widened, "Impossible! A human cannot weather time so well unless they are bonded with a dragon."

"I did say I was a little different," he replied evasively. Truth was, even his enhanced vitality had not been able to stave away the signs of old age indefinitely. Towards the end of his years, he had looked like a forty year old, the faint signs of wrinkles making themselves known.

"Indeed," Arya replied, sounding a little dubious, though she seemed to accept his answer for the moment, "What do you wish to ask me?"

"Your age, of course. So few opportunities present themselves where a man may ask a female her age without heavy consequences following shortly," Hashirama replied slyly, though he had been genuinely serious.

"Why would there be specific consequences from females simply because you question their age?" Arya asked in a puzzled tone, "We elves celebrate birth, but seldom do we elect to celebrate the event recurringly. I was born a year before the Fall, which would mean I am a little under a hundred years old."

 _And they thought mine and Mito's vitality was cheating_ Hashirama pouted internally, knowing that even he or Mito could not hope to match the preservation that the elves seemed to enjoy. Then he frowned. It was starting to bother him now, the persistent presences that had shadowed him since dawn.

"Forgive me, we will have to resume this conversation another time. I need to attend to something," he spoke up, causing Arya to look at him in surprise. But she accepted with grace, perhaps assuming that what he needed to do was in connection with his task the next day.

"I sincerely hope you will be able to help Oromis-elda and Glaedr-elda. They have suffered much for our sake, and I suspect they have a weary road ahead of them," she murmured quietly as she stood, walking away with elegant strides.

 _I suppose she's a friend now, huh. Don't know how I feel about that_ Hashirama thought, scratching the back of his head before vanishing in a burst of speed.

* * *

"Do not stay in the same area for too long," the young girl whispered as she flitted from one tree trunk to another like a ghost, the large trees comfortably hiding her slender body. It was good, for at her age, she sometimes shone faintly with vitality and magic.

"He has shown us little of what he is supposedly capable of. Are you certain they spoke true about the human?" a hushed voice spoke behind her, and she turned to face a boy so startlingly like her that none could ever think of them as anything other than what they were - twins.

Elves gossiped - more than one might think. When one lived in a near unchanging society for centuries, any new event was a breath of fresh air. But as the older elves, the ones who had interacted with other races - said, they gossiped in the Ancient Language. That kept things truthful, or what the speaker believed to be the truth. The difference was small, but it did at times cause much harm. It was, however, better than the tales told amongst the other races.

"We have no other recourse. You know this. If we wish to accomplish our goal, we must continue to wait," the girl whispered in a confident tone, though she was far less sure of herself than she sounded. Her brother said no more, however, and they continued to flit from tree to tree as they skirted the clearing.

For elves, who had the advantage of superior stealth and speed, staying in one place to avoid detection was unnecessary. It was only useful as long as the mind arts were not brought into play, however. Fortunately, the stranger did indeed seem incapable of wielding his mind as they did, while the ambassador appeared to not be exercising it, perhaps welcoming the respite that her home offered her. It was a pity - for what they needed to do, the ambassador was perhaps the only person who would understand and help them. Her duties meant, however, that she could never tarry long in Du Weldenvarden.

 _Please. Show us something_ she entreated internally _Show us that a way exists for our dreams to be achieved._

And thus the time passed, and the human and Arya Drottningu spoke quietly for a while. She sighed almost imperceptibly, debating the merits of ceasing their watch for the day. Perhaps the stranger would be less vigilant after becoming acclimatized to Ellesmera. Even as she made to turn to her brother, however, the ambassador began to walk away, their conversation clearly over. They would have to stay a while longer to ensure their presence went unnoticed.

And then it happened.

He had simply stood, a casual gesture that she paid no attention to. And then he was gone from her line of sight. She turned frantically to her brother, who had a similar panicked look on his face. Then the voice spoke from behind her, bemusement clear in the tone.

"It is a very nostalgic feeling, being spied upon once more," the stranger spoke, and she whirled around with a startled cry, only to see him squatting on his haunches as he surveyed them up close, "I wish I could say this is the first time I caught children spying on me, but even that would not be true. But tell me, who are you and why have you been following me?"

Shaken at the sudden display of prowess, for not even the fastest elf could have done what this human just did, the girl gently touched her brother's hand in an attempt to calm themselves. The moment was upon them. They had the proof they needed, and thus had taken yet another step in the path to reach their goal.

"I am Alanna, and this is my brother Dusan. We request you to teach us how to fight."

* * *

 **Omake #1 (A/N: I know omakes can also refer to actual events in a story that are presented outside the main story. To clarify, these are just humorous situations I think of that do NOT happen in the main story, and are just presented for a laugh or two).**

"My king?"

"What?" snarled Galbatorix, "I told you I did not want to be disturbed! My search for the Name continues!"

Now the page looked confused. Had his King been sneaking sips of the ale the soldiers passed around? That concoction was deadly to one's mind.

"But you know your Name, my king. It is Galbatorix. A mighty fine name, if I say so myself. Well, you say so yourself. You had the bards executed when they told you they couldn't find a lot of words to rhyme with Galbatorix. So no one tells you it makes you sound like an evil-dragon-tavern-dominatrix any more."

Galbatorix glared at the page.

"Ahem. I was merely quoting that one bard before he was decapitated, Your Highness."

"I should certainly hope so," growled the king, "And it is not MY name I search for, you dimwit! I am searching for THE Name."

" _The_ Name Your Highness? Oh, perhaps you have forgotten the name of the city? It is Uru'baen."

"I have not forgotten the name of the city! I named it, you misbegotten waste of space!" the King screamed, and ancient parchments floated into the air before getting caught in the candles that floated around the table, keeping it well lit.

"That is good to hear, you majesty, especially since you burned down the old city and everything in it and built this city on a sea of blood," the page spoke politely, ignoring the many pained screams from his king as ancient manuscripts worth more than a city burned merrily.

The real tragedy was that one of the maids would have to be woken at this ungodly hour to clear away all the ash. The poor girls worked so hard too. They had been so pleased that the castle had gone an entire month without the king violently executing anybody.

* * *

 **A/N: A bit of a slow chapter, but I can promise you now that this story will go at its own pace. Action, yes. Lots of it. But certainly not in every chapter. Doesn't make sense to me.**

 **Note 1: Arya speaks to Hashirama without honorifics because as the ambassador, she has become accustomed to that practice.**

 **Note 2: Certain questions you may have about Alanna and Dusan will be answered over the next couple of chapters. You must know that they're introduced briefly in IC, but never explored. A shame, in my opinion.**

 **My engine is rusty from lack of use. Reviews fill up the tank and put it to work again :P So review!**


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